


The Cost of the Crown

by Bookkbaby



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Dean Winchester, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Castiel (Supernatural), Blow Jobs, Dean/Cas Big Bang 2019 (Supernatural), Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, John Winchester Being an Asshole, Knotting, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mpreg, Multi, Omega Castiel (Supernatural), Omega Castiel/Alpha Dean Winchester, Other: See Story Notes, Protective Castiel (Supernatural), Running Away, Secret Identity, Virgin Castiel (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-05 21:30:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 56,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21215381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bookkbaby/pseuds/Bookkbaby
Summary: The war between Kanaan and Elysium ends with a treaty in which omega prince Castiel is promised to the alpha Crown Prince of Kanaan, Dean. Castiel is less than thrilled about the prospect and makes his escape, determined to find his own future away from the manipulations of his mother and her ideas about 'proper' omega behavior.Dean isn't particularly happy about his upcoming marriage either and goes on a weeklong 'hunting trip' to get in a few last hurrahs before the wedding bells sound. On the way, he meets the mysterious Emmanuel, who is more than what he seems.But the past has a way of coming back to haunt them, and through their journey one question still remains: what are they willing to sacrifice for love?





	1. Escape

**Author's Note:**

> If I've missed any tags, please let me know!
> 
> Credit for the amazing art goes to sirlsplayland, who you can find here on tumblr: www.srlsplayland.tumblr.com

Castiel sighed and set his book down, not bothering to mark the page. He supposed if he ever became truly desperate for entertainment he could either find it again or start the book over.

His maidservant, Hannah, looked up from her mending, a small smile on her face.

"Good book, my lord?" she asked him. Castiel rubbed at his temple with one hand.

"Excellent," he replied dryly. "You know how much I enjoy tales of 'proper' omegas finding an alpha and settling down to bear children."

Hannah winced in sympathy.

"Another one?" she asked. Castiel shrugged and looked towards the fireplace, briefly contemplating throwing the book in among the flames. The scolding he'd get might even be worth it.

"Mother has to approve all my reading material to make sure there's nothing that might possibly upset my 'delicate omega sensibilities'," Cas said. "I just don't know how she keeps finding these."

A sudden knock at the door interrupted Hannah's reply. They both glanced over at the door, confused.

The knock came again. Hannah set aside the dress she had been mending and got up to answer. Castiel stood and darted behind the changing screen in his room, just in case the visitor needed to see him. A cotton shirt and linen trousers were infinitely more comfortable than the silk gowns and flowing robes deemed appropriate for his designation, but that didn't mean he was permitted to wear them.

Hannah opened the door a crack, barely enough to peek out.

"Balthazar!" she said, opening the door just wide enough for the knight to enter. Castiel relaxed and stepped out from behind the changing screen, smiling as his oldest friend walked in.

They had been pages together, back before Castiel had presented and his life had fallen apart. Balthazar, however, had presented as an alpha and been made a squire shortly before his fourteenth birthday. By the time he was twenty, he'd been knighted and chosen to serve as Castiel's bodyguard.

Only then did Castiel notice the apprehensive expression on Balthazar's face. His smile faded.

"What is it?" Castiel asked.

"Her Majesty wants to see you," Balthazar replied.

"What, now?" Hannah asked, surprised. Balthazar nodded tightly.

"Do you know why?" Cas asked, already grabbing the silk robe hanging over top of his changing screen. Hannah hurried over to him as he pulled the sleeves on and knelt to quickly begin doing up the ridiculous, tiny pearl buttons that ran the length of the garment.

"No," Balthazar said, but there's something in his voice that told Castiel he has his suspicions. Castiel narrowed his eyes at the knight as he works on the buttons for the collar and chest, smoothing the material over the rougher cloth hidden beneath.

"Balthazar," he said. Balthazar hesitated.

Hannah straightened up and tugged this way and that on the fine fabric, trying to get it to lay perfectly flat so the lines of his usual sleepwear weren't so obvious through the much thinner material.

"Talks are over. The peace treaty was signed today and the delegation from Kanaan has left," Balthazar said.

Castiel went still. Hannah stopped trying to get him presentable and looked over at Balthazar, eyes wide.

"Oh," Castiel said. He breathed in. "And now my mother wants to see me."

The knight nodded. Castiel wiped his suddenly sweaty palms on his thighs, not caring if it damaged the fabric.

There was no use ignoring the summons. More to the point, Queen Naomi wouldn't appreciate being kept waiting.

Cas nodded firmly, once. Hannah took up her place at his side and Balthazar went back to the door. He glanced back to make sure Hannah and Castiel were in place, then pulled it open wide and allowed them to exit.

Castiel's back was ramrod straight and his head bowed, displaying the enticing line of his neck. His eyes were trained on the floor, his expression serene as he glided rather than walked into the hallway. Hannah was at his left, holding his arm to guide him through the halls of his home.

Balthazar let the door shut and took up position to Castiel's right. As one unit, they walked.

At least in public, Castiel was every inch the proper omega with impeccable courtly manners. His lessons on the matter had been extensive.

And, when he refused to abide by them, painful.

As they made their way through the long, elegant halls, Castiel's stomach churned. He kept his eyes on the stones as they passed beneath him, trying not to panic.

If, as Balthazar suspected, the Queen wanted to see him regarding the peace treaty, there could only be one reason. It's not as though he was allowed to concern himself with matters of state.

Castiel just hoped he was wrong.

They reached the door to Naomi's parlor. There was a guard on either side of the door and they bowed respectfully before the Prince and his entourage before they stepped aside to allow him entry, pulling the doors with them so the 'delicate' omega wouldn't have to. Castiel's lips twitched towards a scowl before he managed to school his features again.

He stepped forward. Hannah moved to go with him but Balthazar laid a hand on her arm. They both turned to look at the knight, surprised.

"Hannah is to wait out here," Balthazar said apologetically. "We shall escort you back after."

"Oh," Castiel said. That didn't bode well. He nodded his head to show he understood and then, with a deep breath, entered the dragon's den.

Naomi's office was cold, at least in appearance. The floor and fireplace were pale stone and there were no rugs nor tapestries to make the place more inviting. There was simply a desk of honey oak and a shelf with books of law, both immaculately kept. The fireplace was free of soot and had only the barest traces of ash from the wood currently burning behind the wrought-iron grate.

The Queen herself was no warmer than the room she spent most of her time in. She favored dove or slate grey gowns and suits, her hair always pulled back in a severe bun. The room was steeped in her scent, sharp and spearminty and undercut by just the faintest hint of alpha musk.

Naomi looked up at the sound of the door opening and set her quill down in the inkwell. Castiel walked in and heard the door shut behind him and tried not to picture cell bars slamming shut.

He bowed politely, keeping his expression calm and eyes downcast.

"You wanted to see me, Mother?" he asked. Out of the corner of his eye, he could just make out Naomi nodding with a pensive expression on her face.

"Yes, I did," she said. "Arrangements have been made. In two months, you'll be wed and mated to Kanaan's Crown Prince."

Castiel's blood ran cold. Even though he had been expecting it, to hear the words he had been dreading still sent ice spreading through his gut.

Still, he kept his expression composed.

"Was that one of their requirements for the treaty?" Castiel asked. His voice was strained but level, his face admirably neutral, but his mother knew him too well. She fixed him with a shrewd look.

"It was my suggestion," she said. "And you _ will _ obey me in this, Castiel."

Castiel clenched his fists and bit his tongue on the first three responses that came to mind.

"I mean no disrespect, Mother," he said. "But perhaps Anna might be more suitable-"

"_ Anna _ has not insulted or rejected every eligible match in the kingdom," Naomi snapped. " _ Anna _ has prospects and _ Anna _ is a beta. Her options are not so limited as yours."

"So you'll marry me off to the first alpha who can't refuse," Castiel snapped, even as he kept his head bowed. His anger was writhing like a living thing inside him, vitriol clawing up his throat. 

"You will _ mind your tongue _, Castiel," Naomi said warningly. Castiel shut his mouth and strove for calm.

"My apologies, alpha," he said. Naomi gave him a hard look for a moment, judging his sincerity, and apparently found it acceptable enough. Castiel relaxed.

Naomi sighed and rubbed at her forehead as if soothing a headache.

"I am doing what is best for you, Castiel," Naomi said. "You'll thank me one day, once you finally accept what you are."

Castiel didn't trust himself to respond. The silence dragged on, broken only by the crackle of flames in the fireplace.

At long last, Naomi spoke again.

"I have been patient with you," she said, voice gentle. "Given your upbringing, it's only natural that you'd be confused, especially with you presenting as late as you did. I don't blame you for it, but you are an _ omega _, my son, and it's past time you started acting like one."

For the better part of the first two decades of his life, he'd been reared with the expectation that he would be a king someday. He had been taught diplomacy and how to manage state affairs and deal with the nobles. He had been in training to become a knight and had the markings of a great one, if his teachers were to be believed.

And then he had presented, and his lessons on state affairs had become lectures on decorum and he'd been banned from the armory.

There was no use in arguing. His mother was still his alpha and while he'd been lucky and clever enough to avoid marriage so far, it seemed his luck had ended.

Castiel cast his eyes demurely down at the floor and folded his hands together. He bowed.

"If I may take my leave, Mother?" Castiel asked, his voice mild. Naomi let out a long, low breath.

"This is for the best, Castiel," she said. "Yes, you're dismissed."

Castiel straightened up and, still keeping his eyes down, shoulders back and head tilted to show off the graceful line of his throat, he glided towards the door. It opened as he approached, the guards having surely heard his footsteps on the stone. He dared a glance behind him as he left.

Naomi was already buried deep in her paperwork again.

He turned away and was greeted by Hannah and Balthazar, who were both watching him with worried expressions. They took up their positions at his sides and began escorting him back to his room.

The walk there was tense and silent, Hannah and Balthazar exchanging worried looks and Castiel doing his best to keep his emotions from showing on his face.

At long last, they arrived. Balthazar opened the door and ushered Hannah and Castiel in ahead of him and then, with a quick glance to make sure no one was watching, followed them in and closed the door behind himself.

Hannah hovered anxiously, waiting to help Cas remove the outer robe as he usually did after retreating to his room, but this time Castiel couldn't be bothered with it. He walked across his room to the window, staring out at the citadel of Haven spread before him. There were candles in the windows of some of the houses, enough light spilling from a few for Castiel to guess at a fireplace.

He could almost hear the anxiety of his two closest friends, but he couldn't bring himself to break the silence, as though by ignoring it, the betrothal would disappear.

Finally, Balthazar breaks the silence for him.

"What did the Queen want?" he asked. 

Castiel sighed and continued staring out of his window, past the citadel to the greater city beyond, and then to the darkness surrounding the city, the wilderness and the roads where there were no lights.

"She's chosen an alpha for me," Cas said flatly. "I am to be wed to the crown prince of Kanaan as part of the treaty."

Balthazar and Hannah both breathed in sharply, twin expressions of shock. Cas didn't look at them.

His voice was bitter and biting as he added, "Her suggestion."

Silence fell again, interrupted only by the crackling of the fire.

"We knew this day would come," Balthazar finally said, more to himself than anyone else. The expression on his face was pained and drawn, resigned and wistful all at once.

"I had hoped she would give up," Castiel muttered. Naomi's attempts to find him an alpha had started the moment Castiel had presented and had only slowed down once he'd hit thirty and was no longer young and beautiful enough to be a proper trophy. And, he thought with no little satisfaction, when word of his 'difficult nature' had spread.

The alphas of his country liked their omegas docile and pliable. For all that Castiel had to play at being the perfect omega in public, he'd never been the type to roll over and submit. A multitude of polite refusals and dryly sarcastic 'praise' was usually enough to discourage all but the most determined alphas and for those, Castiel took a more direct approach.

Enough of his suitors had ended up outrageously humiliated at court that people had begun to suspect the prince was responsible for it, even though no one could prove it. And without proof, no one could punish him for it.

His mother was, after all, still his alpha and the Queen was not one any alpha was willing to cross. Harming her property, no matter how 'well-deserved' the punishment was, would be enough to get them exiled or sent to the gallows. And Naomi, for all her faults, had never raised a hand to him.

Castiel had no desire to be handed over to an alpha with fewer qualms about using violence to keep him in line. Or one that wanted to keep him abed and partake in his body whenever the alpha took a fancy to, one that wanted as many heirs as Castiel's body could physically produce.

Castiel absolutely refused.

"Perhaps it won't be so bad?" Hannah asked, though she didn't seem certain of that herself. "Kanaan is supposed to be... well, I've heard the other servants talk. They treat their omegas very well over there."

"And I've heard the nobles," Balthazar said. He cleared his throat and looked down. "Their Crown Prince is said to be a good man. He... he would make a good mate."

"Since when have I shown an interest in mating?" Castiel asked, turning unhappily to face the others. Balthazar's expression sunk even lower.

"Never, Cassie," he said. Nobody spoke for a moment, each one lost in their own thoughts.

Hannah cleared her throat.

"Do you... can we help?" Hannah asked carefully, her voice low. Castiel gaped at her blankly for a moment as the implications sank in.

"Help...?" he said. Hannah stared at him with wide, pleading eyes, biting her lip as though she dared not elaborate. Balthazar looked from one to the other but then he, too, nodded resolutely and crossed his arms.

"With any preparations you need to make. Before the wedding," Balthazar said, and from the tone of his voice, Cas knows he's not talking about helping pick out the garments Castiel will wear for the ceremony.

He was overcome by a rush of warmth and gratitude. He opened his mouth to speak-

-and stopped.

"My lord?" Hannah asked worriedly. Castiel looked at her and then to Balthazar.

He couldn't do this to them. He knew where their loyalty lay, and it wasn't with his mother. Still, they were Naomi's subjects. Naomi might not execute her own son for running off, but no such protection extended to his handmaiden or personal guard.

Even Balthazar being a knight and minor nobility in his own right wouldn't protect him if Naomi claimed treason. Nobody would protest the hanging or beheading of a traitor to the Crown.

No, Cas thought, swallowing around a lump in his throat. Safest for them if Hannah and Balthazar knew nothing.

Castiel would have to do this on his own.

He turned from his two friends and shook his head.

"Like Balthazar said, we knew this day would come," he said. "I'm only surprised it didn't happen sooner."

"Cassie..." Balthazar said, shocked and aghast. Cas couldn't face him. He'd never been a particularly skilled liar and his oldest friend would be able to read the truth on his face if he looked up.

"I will make my peace with it," Cas lied. "Leave me. I need some time."

Balthazar and Hannah were both quiet for a long minute. Finally, Balthazar spoke.

"If you need either of us for anything," he said. "-_ anything _ at all, we are at your disposal."

"Thank you, my friend," Castiel said gently. He didn't turn. "I'll send for you if I need you, but if I could have a moment to myself...?"

It wasn't a request.

With murmured agreements and hesitant steps, Hannah and Balthazar left the room. Castiel listened to the sound of the door closing and let out a long breath. He looked at the door for a moment, wistful and resigned, then turned deliberately away and went to his desk.

If he was to have any hope of getting out of this, he needed to come up with a plan and begin making preparations.

Quickly.

* * *

ONE MONTH LATER

Hannah approached the prince's chamber door, holding his usual breakfast tray in her hands; whatever fruit was freshest, bread, and some jam from the castle's stores. She hesitated before knocking on the door.

"My lord?" she called, knowing Castiel was usually awake at this hour and, more to the point, did not like people entering his room unannounced. Even she, who had been his handmaiden for several years, was not afforded that privilege, though she was one of the few allowed in at all. "I have your breakfast."

She waited, but there was no answer. As the minutes dragged on, she knocked again, louder. It was rare, but the prince did occasionally have a lie-in and needed to be woken. In the last few weeks since the wedding announcement, those mornings had been more common.

She worried, but had no one to share her concerns with except Balthazar. Castiel had become more withdrawn and quiet in the last month, doing little except dedicating himself to sewing and writing something he wouldn't let her see.

"Prince Castiel?" she called again. She listened for any sound of movement behind the door, but there was nothing. When the silence stretched for a minute, she sighed and went for the handle.

He'd forgive her eventually, especially since she had breakfast. The prince was lovely to work for, really Hannah couldn't ask for a better lord to serve, but he was quite grumpy when he first woke.

Hannah walked into the room with the breakfast tray and shut the door behind herself. She headed for the small table where the prince usually took his meals, sparing the bed a glance as she went.

She stopped.

All at once, she registered the empty bed, stripped of all blankets, and the breeze on her face from the open window. Her heart seized and the tray fell from her numb hands.

She turned on her heel and ran out of the room, practically breaking the door in her haste, screaming for Balthazar.

* * *

The Queen stood in the prince's chamber, scowling darkly as she surveyed the scene. There was a makeshift rope made out of bed linens hanging out the window, which Naomi took a moment to glare at as though it had personally insulted her.

"And none of your guards saw _ anything _, Captain?" Naomi asked, turning to Ion with that same dark glare. Ion inclined his head respectfully.

"Nothing, your Majesty. And the stablemaster says that none of the horses are missing," he said. A drop of sweat slid down his spine.

"And the cooks?" Naomi asked, looking around the room again. "The servants? He couldn't have done this without help."

"Cook is taking inventory now; so far, she's discovered two missing loaves of bread," said Ion. "I have my men questioning the servants."

"And my son's bodyguard and maid? They couldn't have been ignorant of this," Naomi said. She walked towards the window and looks down.

"They were the first people we questioned, your Majesty," Ion said. "I took Uriel with me and we questioned each, even searched their rooms thoroughly, but found nothing. I don't believe they knew."

Naomi was quiet for a moment. She looked out towards the horizon, towards the wild, dangerous world outside the castle, and thought.

If Castiel truly had no help, then that would make things easier. With nobody to feed and clothe and protect him, he would surely return with his tail between his legs. She simply couldn't take the risk that her son's stubbornness would keep him beyond her reach until after the wedding.

Or, far worse, that he'd be captured by slavers or killed by bandits.

But if he did have help, if he'd found someone else to provide for him, that would complicate matters.

"In the night, someone broke in and kidnapped my son," Naomi said slowly. "Isn't that right?"

"... yes, your Majesty," Ion said after a beat of quiet.

"Disaffected rebels, perhaps," Naomi said. She looked at Ion. "They attacked the guards and then rode off with my son. In particular, if anyone sees a dark-haired, blue-eyed male omega of approximately six feet in height, he is wanted _ alive _ for questioning in the matter. I want word out to every town and village in Elysium."

"I shall send my fastest riders," Ion said. "The knights and I will conduct a search. No stone will be left unturned."

Naomi considered for a moment.

"Take my son's guard with you. Keep a close eye on him. If Balthazar attempts to make contact with Castiel, he may lead us directly to him," Naomi said. "Have Hannah reassigned to the laundry. If she makes any attempt to leave the castle, follow her."

"Yes, your Majesty," Ion said. "And if we find these... rebels who stole the prince from under our noses?"

Naomi smiled coldly.

"If anyone is with Castiel when you find him, you may use whatever force you deem necessary to subdue them and bring them to justice," she said.

"And if they resist?" Ion asked.

"Kill them."


	2. Into the Woods

Dean checked his saddlebags one last time. He had provisions, a bedroll, a spare set of clothing, and perhaps a little more gold than was either wise or warranted on a hunting trip.

"Is this about the wedding?"

Dean straightened up and sighed. He didn't look towards the door to the stables; he didn't need to.

"Heya, Sammy," he said, busying himself with Chevy's saddle, rechecking the buckles and the blanket.

"I told you not to call me that," Sam said, but there's no bite to it. He walked closer and leaned against the support pillar closest to the black mare's stall, arms crossed. "Benny told me you were going hunting at the cabin for a week. Alone."

"Sent you to talk me out of it, huh?" Dean asked. Sam sighed.

"No," he admitted. "And I'm not here to talk you out of going, or... or blowing off steam, whatever, but I don't think you should go alone."

Dean looked over. Sam was standing tall, jaw set, and Dean just did not have the energy to have this fight again with his little brother.

"Look, like I told Benny; the war is over. The cabin is half a day's ride away, and there's nothing but forest from here to the Strait," Dean said. "It's not like it's the first time I've gone alone. I'll be fine."

Sam hesitated.

"Are you  _ really _ going to the cabin, though?" Sam asked in a low voice. "I saw your face when Dad told you about the wedding. You don't-"

"Look," Dean cut in, turning to face Sam. "I just need some time to wrap my head around it, ok? Hence, hunting."

Sam looked at him sympathetically.

"The marriage was kind of added on last-minute, maybe we could-" he started doubtfully, but Dean was sick of it.

"Nope," he said, turning away. "They offered an omega, Dad jumped on it." Dean snorted a laugh. "Not  _ literally _ or anything, but. You know what I mean. Sucks that it's a prince instead of a princess, but hey, you can't win 'em all."

"Dean..."

Dean could  _ hear _ the honey-thick empathy in Sam's voice and he hated it. He shook his head sharply.

"It's fine," Dean said. It wasn't, but wishing wouldn't make anything different. "I'll be back in a week or two. Plenty of time to help with planning."

Even if Dean couldn't choose anything else about the event, maybe they'd let him pick the color of the table linens or something. Better than nothing.

"Ok," Sam said. He still didn't sound certain, but it was enough for Dean.

He guided Chevy out of her stall and towards the front of the stables. Sam followed, still frowning.

"Bye, Sammy!" Dean said, mounting his horse with a cheeky grin and a wave.

"Be careful!" Sam shouted at Dean's retreating back. Dean lifted his hand in a backwards wave as he rode off, grinning.

Dean hadn't lied, exactly.

He was going to spend the week hunting, just not for animals. Or with the intention to kill.

All he was in search of was a good time.

* * *

Dean slowed Chevy's canter as he approached the narrow turn-off into the King's Forest. Turning left would take him into the woods; he'd made the journey so many times since he was young that he could navigate the forest blindfolded.

Going straight would take him to the main trade route after about a day's easy ride. From there, he could go anywhere and be anyone for a little while. Not a crown prince with an impending marriage to some omega he hadn't even met, from a country choked by tradition.

Dean hesitated for a moment. True, he'd packed extra provisions, a spare set of clothes, and more coin than he would ever need for a simple hunting trip, but packing extra didn't mean he had to go through with it. He could turn left, take the well-trodden path, and spend a week hunting and fishing and trying not to think about the upcoming wedding.

Dean took a deep breath. He spurred Chevy forward, passing the left-hand turn without a glance as though afraid the forest would suck him in if he looked.

He wasn't running away, he told himself. Dean knew how important the peace treaty was; the kingdom could not support another year of war. Too many men had died, too many crops destroyed, and weakening themselves any further would leave them vulnerable. The kingdom of Hel to the north was always looking to expand its borders.

He wasn't running away. He would be back, well before the wedding, he just had to be somewhere else for a while. Some _ one _ else for a while.

If he was to be mated to some stuffy, traditionalist omega in a month, he was going to make the best of the time he had remaining as a single alpha.

The ride was easy, for the most part. It wasn't as well-travelled as the road he was heading for, still narrow in places and surrounded by trees on all sides, but sufficient to allow a horse and rider passage. Dean focused on the nature around him, enjoying the woods at an easy walk. He was in no hurry and had no specific destination, but it was peaceful to be out of the castle and away from his parents.

He whiled away a good portion of the afternoon that way, noticing the trail become muddier and muddier until finally, he came to a spot where the path was completely washed out and the ground had turned to a spongy mess. He stilled his horse and frowned at the mud, noticing the deep footprints of a few other travelers. The layer of mud had to be several inches thick and Dean cursed, swinging himself down and out of the saddle.

He couldn't ride Chevy across. She could throw a shoe or worse, break a leg. He took Chevy's reins in hand and carefully started to lead her across the wide swathes of mud, trying to pick the driest, shallowest parts of the boggy ground to walk on.

It was slow going. Dean grimaced as the mud stuck to his boots, weighing him down as the coat of muck on his shoes thickened with every step. He was about halfway into the thickest part of the mud when a figure stepped out from behind one of the thick trees on either side of the trail.

"That's a mighty fine horse you got there."

Dean looked up and stopped dead in his tracks. There was a skinny, barefooted man leaning against a tree right by the path. His clothes were thin and patchy with dirt ground into the fibers. The man smiled a reaper's grin and casually hefted a sickle, like he's a farmhand taking a brief rest during harvesttime.

Except Dean knew there were no wheat fields around here.

"Look, buddy," Dean said, drawing himself up to his full height. He had an inch on the man and at least 5 stone, mostly muscle. "Whatever it is you're planning, I wouldn't try it with me. Now scram before you do something you'll regret."

The man didn't seem the least bit concerned with Dean's threat. In fact, his grin widened.

"Regret?" he said. "I don't think we will."

Dean noticed the plural too late. He jerked his head around just in time to see five more men come out of the woods surrounding him, each one brandishing a weapon of some kind. At least two men had crude bows, arrows already nocked and aimed for his chest. They were all thin and had a hungry look in their eyes, like starving dogs who just spotted unattended sausages.

The man holding the sickle stepped away from the tree and took up position in the circle. He leveled the blade at Dean.

"Give us the horse and any coin you've got, and we  _ might _ let you live," the leader said in his nasally voice. "Or we'll take it off your corpse."

Dean held tighter to Chevy's reins and looked around warily. He had a dirk with him, but he knew his chances of drawing it before the bowmen fired were slim. His chances of taking them both out before one shot him even more so; the bowmen were on opposite sides of the circle and Dean didn't want to trust that they'd both miss their shot if he goes for his weapon. Not to mention the four other men holding sickles and axes.

He couldn't even mount Chevy and trample the men under her hooves. One or both of them would most certainly be shot, and if the first arrow didn't kill him he knew the bandits wouldn't hesitate to slit his throat. And then there was the slick terrain that had gotten him unhorsed in the first place.

He should've taken Benny with him. Or one of the other knights, if not his bodyguard. Instead, he was now going to die on the road and nobody in his kingdom would ever know what happened to him.

From the gleam in the leader's eye, Dean knew that even if he handed over Chevy and all his valuables, the bandits would kill him just to keep him quiet.

His hand drifted surreptitiously towards the small knife he had concealed at his lower back. It wasn't much, but if they were going to kill him he was taking as many of them down with him as he could.

"You have three seconds to decide," the leader said, eyes narrowing suspiciously. 

"One..."

Dean gripped the handle of the knife and squared his jaw.

"Two..."

Dean looked around the circle, at the blades as they were raised in preparation, and tried to calculate a way to take them all down before they killed him.

"Thr-!"

There was a short, sharp whistle of air and a throwing knife was suddenly embedded in the leader's arm. He went down clutching at the wound, eyes wide in shock, and the rest of the band erupted into chaos. The five remaining men whirled around, looking wildly at the trees to try and figure out where the knife came from.

Dean wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. He dropped the handle of his dagger and went directly for the dirk he'd foolishly attached to Chevy's saddle. There was a 'meaty' thwack as another throwing knife found its target and another bandit went down, screaming and clutching his thigh.

Dean drew his dirk and slapped Chevy's rump.

"Chevy, go!" he shouted. She took off into the trees, nearly trampling one of the bandits as she ran. With Chevy safe from stray arrows, Dean turned his focus to the nearest bowman. The man's attention was completely diverted from Dean, his aim now towards the trees to the right of the clearing. He fired an arrow off into the foliage and reached to his quiver for another, but Dean was already on him. He batted the bow out of the man's hands with the flat of his blade and dove forward to drive the pommel into the man's skull. The bandit dropped.

Dean spun to face the next bandit. This one was a little more aware of his surroundings and he'd turned his attention to Dean the second he'd become a bigger threat than the person hiding in the trees. The bandit brought his scythe up in a sweeping motion, shouting in rage.

Dean ducked and parried, then slashed at the man. The bandit sidestepped and then lunged forward. His scythe drew a line of fire down Dean's bicep, but it was only a glancing blow. Dean gritted his teeth against the pain and stabbed his blade into the man's flank. He yanked the dirk free as he turned to face his next opponent, but not fast enough. The bandit was carrying a large wooden staff and already upon him, swinging violently. The staff caught Dean hard in the arm, knocking him sideways. Dean rallied in time to dodge the next strike; a skull-crushing downward blow.

Dean brought his dirk up, ready to block or strike, and watched his opponent warily. The man had a wide grip on his staff, his eyes like those of a cornered fox. He was the last man standing and he knew it, the six-to-one odds at the start of the battle much more favorable than the one-to-two he now faced.

"Drop the wea-" Dean started. There was a sudden yank on his ankle and he fell forward, barely managing to avoid being skewered by his own blade. He hit the muddy ground hard and twisted, looking back to see the man he'd stabbed in the side grinning nastily at him. The man had one hand on his wound and another around Dean's boot.

Dean roared and kicked out with the captured foot, breaking the man's grip and his nose in one motion. The man howled in pain and Dean scrambled to get his feet back under him, slipping in the thick mud.

There was a hard kick to his side and he was laid out flat in the mud again. He spat a mouthful of muck but had no time to get up before there was a heavy foot on his back, pressing him deeper into the mire.

Dean turned his head to see the man with the staff holding him in place, his weapon raised like a club. Dean tried to push himself up, but his hands found no purchase on the slick ground, certainly not enough to leverage against the weight keeping him down, and he'd lost his grip on his weapon when he fell.

He watched the staff come down as if in slow motion. He braced himself and closed his eyes, but instead of pain exploding along his senses, he heard a dull impact and the weight pinning him was suddenly gone.

Dean scrambled to his feet and turned to watch the scuffle. Another man, one Dean didn't recognize from the six that had attacked him, had his would-be killer in a chokehold. The bandit was trying desperately to strike at the newcomer, but couldn't get any sort of angle since the man was pressed tightly to his back. Dean looked warily around the clearing to see if there were any more enemies to worry about, but it looked like the other bandits had scattered. Probably run back into the forest to lick their wounds, Dean figured.

He turned back to the fight in time to see the bandit's eyes roll back in his head as he collapsed, unconscious.

The newcomer, who Dean figured  _ must _ be the one with the throwing knives from minutes ago, dropped the bandit to the mud. He watched the man warily for a moment to make sure he wasn't playing possum and Dean took the opportunity to look him over.

He was beautiful.

The man was all broad shoulders and dark hair and tan skin. He was dressed in a simple but well-made tan tunic, belted with a length of leather, and dark breeches. Dean took in the sharpness of the man's jaw, the hint of stubble, and then the man looked up to meet his gaze. Dean's breath caught.

The man's eyes held every shade of blue ever seen in the sky.

The wind changed direction, carrying with it the scent of peppermint. It overpowered any more subtle nuances to the man's scent, making it impossible to tell his designation, but Dean would guess alpha just from the confidence and the muscles. Couldn't forget the muscles.

Dean might have been an alpha himself, but he was no stranger to alphas in his bed. He'd always been a fan of beauty, no matter if the person was male or female, or alpha, beta, or omega.

So, naturally, he met one of the most beautiful people he thought he'd  _ ever _ seen while he was covered in mud and had just gotten his ass handed to him by a bunch of ne'er-do-wells.

That said beautiful person had to rescue him from.

Twice.

"Thank you," Dean said, cursing himself for the breathy note in his voice. Hopefully the other alpha just took it as exertion from the fight.

"Are you hurt?" the man asked, and  _ dear Lords of the Sky _ , his voice was deep and rich and hit Dean low in his gut like fine whiskey. He opened his mouth to reply when a worried whinnying interrupted. Dean looked over to the treeline and saw Chevy trotting back into the clearing, carefully picking her way over the mud and back to him.

He smiled, relieved. She didn't appear to be injured in any way and walked right up to Dean, ignoring the stranger completely. She shoved her nose against his chest, making sure he made it through safely. Dean chuckled and petted her nose, wincing when he saw the smear of mud he left on her dark hair. He was in dire need of a bath, or at least a running stream.

"It's ok, girl, I'm fine, I promise," he said, digging into her saddlebags for his waterskin. 

Then, remembering the handsome stranger who had asked him much the same question, he looked back at the man. The man was still watching him, his stare intense in a way that Dean thought should probably be more unsettling than it was. "Thanks to you. What's your name?"

The man paused for a moment. Dean found his waterskin and a scrap of cloth and pulled them triumphantly out of his bags. He wet the rag quickly and dragged it across his face to get the worst of the mud off.

"Emmanuel," the man said. "My name is Emmanuel."

"Well, Emmanuel, I'm Dean," Dean said. He rinsed the rag again and began to wipe at his hands before looking back at the man. "And I owe you one."

Emmanuel shifted from foot to foot and avoided Dean's gaze.

"It was no trouble," he muttered. Dean gave up on getting his hands clean and crumpled the rag up to shove into his pocket, then stoppers up the waterskin.

"Look, it seems to me like it's not too safe to travel alone around here," Dean said, hoping he sounded convincing. "What do you say you and I go together to the next town? Let me buy you a drink and a hot meal. Least I can do."

Dean was half-tempted to flirt and see if Emmanuel might be receptive to certain  _ other _ methods of 'repayment', but he felt like the effectiveness of his seduction would be lost underneath the layers of mud. No matter, if Emmanuel agreed to travel with him and get drinks, Dean would have another opportunity to see if Emmanuel was the kind of alpha who liked to tumble other alphas.

Dean figured this week was the only real bachelor party he'd get. The last hurrah. Last chance to pick his own bed partners, to sample every form of hedonism known to man and invent a few just for fun.

Emmanuel hesitated.

"At least for the night," Dean wheedled. "Those bastards are still out there, and they might have friends."

"You have a point," Emmanuel said reluctantly. "I've been lucky enough not to have run into any trouble yet, but..." Emmanuel glanced at the two still unconscious bandits and then back at Dean. Dean could almost see what he was thinking; no matter how skilled, one man against six was poor odds. And this was likely not the only group of bandits along the road.

Emmanuel turned back towards the direction he'd come.

"Follow me. We should get out of here before anyone comes looking for them," he said, gesturing to the unconscious men. Dean grinned and grabbed Chevy's reins.

"Lead on," Dean said.

* * *

All things considered, Castiel thought he'd done quite well for himself. He'd certainly learned a lot since he'd escaped.

Namely, he'd learned that the ground was not very comfortable to sleep on, and often damp. Cooking was much harder than simply overseeing the cooks, and hunting, fishing, and foraging are actually much more difficult than he'd been led to believe. The books he'd referenced had had such clear drawings of each edible plant and the key characteristics to identify them, but plants on the road rarely looked so perfect as the ones in books. Castiel didn't want to take a chance of getting sick or poisoned.

But he wouldn't trade his newfound freedom for anything. The power to walk around without a chaperone, to not have his day decided for him, to not have to keep his eyes downcast and his mouth closed and  _ exist _ as nothing more than pretty ornamentation.

To make his  _ own _ decisions and not be dismissed as an omega with delusions of autonomy, particularly where his body was concerned.

Castiel stopped by the tree he'd dropped his pack at when he'd first heard the bandits threaten Dean. He slung it over his shoulder, still carrying the three remaining throwing knives from his set of four. They still had traces of mud on them from the fight; he'd need to clean them before he could put them away. He feels a momentary pang of loss for the fourth knife, but it was probably still sunk deep into the bandit leader's shoulder if the man had any medical sense at all.

Cleaning would have to wait until he got a little further away from the road. He slid each knife into its home of sturdy leather and rolled it carefully so he could pack it away for later.

"Nice knives," Dean commented. "Gift from your mate?"

"I'm not mated," Castiel said, tucking the roll into his bag. "They were a gift from a friend."

"That must be some friend," Dean said, sounding impressed. "Knives that nice aren't cheap."

Castiel simply shrugged. Balthazar had gifted them to him shortly after Castiel had been banned from entering the armory. Omegas weren't typically allowed weapons, but the throwing knives were small and easy to conceal. Castiel had practiced with them scrupulously.

Castiel picked his way through the forest towards a sheltered clearing near a stream he'd spotted earlier. He could hear the soft crunch of leaves and the snap of twigs behind him as Dean followed with his horse. Perhaps it was foolish of him to trust a stranger, particularly an alpha, but Dean had made a good point. It was dangerous travelling alone, and if anyone somehow figured out his secondary gender, he had more to fear than simply losing his possessions or his life.

If nothing else, Dean seemed to be a man of honor, one who wouldn't readily sell him to slave traders.

He dropped a hand to the leather pouch at his belt, feeling carefully for the shape of the ointment jar. Peppermint salve was both common enough not to be remarked upon and strong smelling enough to cover up the sweetness of his omega scent. From a distance, anyway, though Castiel did not plan on permitting anyone close enough to scent him properly.

"So, Em, any chance of this camp of yours being near water?" Dean asked suddenly, breaking into Castiel's thoughts. Castiel glanced over his shoulder.

"'Em'?" he repeated. Dean shrugged ruefully, the drying mud on his clothes cracking along his shoulder.

"Emmanuel is kind of a mouthful, so Em, unless you'd rather I call you Manny," Dean said. His voice was teasing and playful with more than a hint of laughter at the end. It was such a stark contrast from the cool, distant deference of the soldiers and servants in the castle that Castiel was momentarily thrown.

"Or I can just call you Emmanuel, that's-" Dean started. Castiel shook his head quickly.

"Em is fine," he said. "It's just that no one's ever called me that before."

"Really?" Dean asked, sounding genuinely surprised. "What, does your family call you Emmanuel all the time? Your friends never gave you a nickname?"

"No," Castiel said shortly. Balthazar might call him 'Cassie', but it was more a holdover from when they were very young and Balthazar still couldn't pronounce Castiel's full name properly.

Dean dropped the subject. They travelled a few more minutes in silence, brushing aside branches, before Castiel finally spoke again.

"We're here," he said.

'Camp' was perhaps too generous a term for the little copse of trees Castiel had scouted earlier. It was secluded, at least, far back enough from the road that nobody with ill intent would be able to spot him, but not deep enough into the woods for other predators to be a serious concern.

There was a firepit, or at least Castiel's half-hearted attempt at one. He'd learned over the past week that fires were actually much more difficult to start than one would think. He'd remembered to bring flint and steel with him, but the grass he found never seemed to catch, or it spluttered and died within the first few sparks. He'd more or less given up on the idea of warmth at night and cooked food, at least until he found a town.

Not that having a fire would do much if there was nothing to cook, Castiel thought, bitterly amused. He hadn't yet managed to trap or snare anything, though at least he'd had the foresight to pack rations.

At this point, he only had scraps left, but it would hopefully do until he found a village or town and could trade labor for a meal.

* * *

Dean groaned out loud when he saw the small stream that runs by the trees.

"Thank the Lords," he sayid, looping the reins of his horse loosely around a handy branch. "Do you mind if I rinse off real quick? I'm starting to flake."

"Go ahead," Em said. Dean gave him a grateful smile.

Dean dug in his saddlebags for his clean change of clothes. He was a bit annoyed that he already needed to dirty his second set, but he absolutely refused to stay in mud-soaked clothes if he didn't have to. He was not nearly the dandy his brother was, but he did have limits. Being covered head to toe in mud exceeded those limits.

Dean stripped off his shirt and breeches and threw them onto a large, flat rock on the bank. He could wash them later, for now all he wanted was to get clean and get some food in his belly.

He hesitated at the buttons on his smallclothes, darting a glance over to Emmanuel to see if he was watching. Dean was man enough to admit to a little disappointment that Emmanuel seemed totally absorbed in getting a fire going and completely unaffected by Dean getting naked and wet only feet away.

Dean blamed the mud.

He shucked his smallclothes without ceremony and tossed them towards the rock as well. He waded into the stream, sighing with relief.

The little stream wasn't deep, perhaps waist-height at the middle. The water was cool and the current weak but steady. It made the water fresh rather than stagnant, which Dean was grateful for as he dumped handfuls of water over his head. The bed of the stream was rocky, with small pockets of sand Dean could feel beneath his toes. He bent down, scooped some sand up, and scrubbed at his legs and chest, ducking his whole body beneath the water to rinse.

After Dean had washed and dried (and laid his soaking wet but de-mudded clothing on a branch to dry), he pulled on his clean change of clothes and walked back to where Emmanuel was somehow still struggling with something that one might call a firepit, if one was in the mood to be generous.

When he saw Em strike together flint and steel, he knew he'd guessed correctly. Emmanuel's mouth was in a thin line, his brow furrowed, as he carefully struck the flint again. Sparks flew, but didn't catch the mound of bright green grass he had piled before him.

"It won't light," Emmanuel said petulantly. Dean bit back a smile and crouched down beside him.

"No offense, but... you ever start a fire before?" Dean asked. Emmanuel looked at him, equal parts annoyed and surprised.

It was kind of an adorable look on him.

"I've seen other people do it." Emmanuel looked back at the grass pile. "I didn't think it would be so difficult."

Dean grinned.

"Well, you've got the theory down at least," he said, pushing himself to his feet. "Hold that thought."

He headed over to where Chevy was grazing on some scattered clover. Her ears flicked at the sound of his footsteps and she looked up, calming when she saw it was only Dean.

"Good grazing here?" he asked her, running an affectionate hand down the side of her neck. She snorted and went back to grazing as he dug into the saddlebags and came out with his small tinderbox.

Emmanuel was watching him from by the attempted firepit. Dean grinned and held up the box in explanation as he walked back and sat down next to the other man.

"So, first off," he said, popping open the box. "You need char cloth and  _ dry _ tinder. Green grass is too wet to burn."

Emmanuel shot a glare at his pile of grass, as though by the heat of his gaze he could dry it out. Dean chuckled and took out a small scrap of blackened cloth.

"It's easy. I'll show you," Dean said. He nodded towards the flint and striker Emmanuel was holding. "May I?"

Emmanuel handed them over and moved closer, watching Dean's hands intently.

Dean put the scrap of char cloth over the flint and takes the steel in his other hand.

"You see, you get the cloth right by where you're going to strike your flint -right by that nice sharp edge, see?- and you just-" He expertly struck the flint and while sparks flew up, none quite landed on the cloth. He tried again and grinned when this time, the sparks catch.

He blew gently and the spark flared brightly, tiny flames springing to life around it. Dean dropped the steel and reached into his tinderbox for some dried moss, then carefully laid the cloth on top.

"You don't want to blow on it too hard or it might go out. But once this catches-" Dean indicated the moss. "-then we get a couple of sticks and we have ourselves a fire."

"Sticks I have," Emmanuel said, gesturing lamely to a small pile at his side. "But I may have chosen poorly."

Dean looked over the sticks. Some were definitely not sticks he'd pick up to get a fire going with, but there were a couple lovely, dry little twigs that should do nicely.

"Not too bad, honestly," Dean said, selecting a few. He set the now-ignited moss down in the small ring of stones Em had assembled and began carefully feeding it the driest of the twigs. "Just takes practice."

Emmanuel nodded thoughtfully, staring mesmerized at the fire as Dean slowly built it with more sticks. Dean glanced around. It was a nice campsite, really. A bit far from the road, but that meant they probably didn't need to worry about whether or not passers-by were the type to rob a man in his sleep.

And for that matter...

"If this is your camp, what were you doing all the way over by the road?" Dean asked. Em ducked his head.

"Foraging," he muttered. "Or trying to, at least."

"Forag- well, did you find anything?" Dean asked. He hadn't seen Em with any berries or wild onions...

"Nothing I recognized," Em said grudgingly. Dean chuckled.

"Not much of an outdoorsman, are you?" he asked. Em shot him a dark look. Dean held his hands up placatingly. "Not a judgement call, just an observation."

Emmanuel shrugged, mollified, and poked at the dirt with a stick.

"My mother preferred me to pursue more... academic subjects," Em said. He sounded less than pleased about it. "Ones that kept me indoors."

Dean nodded sympathetically. There was a question on the tip of his tongue, a burning curiosity about whatever it was that had brought Emmanuel out here and far from home. From the sound of it, Emmanuel was probably some kind of nobility, but that just raised more questions than it answered.

"Well, you've got time to learn," Dean said, deciding to let his questions lie for now. "You got anything to eat?"

Between not being able to light a fire and not knowing which plants were safe to forage, Dean didn't think it was likely.

"Credit me with some sense," Em said, scowling. "I packed rations. They've lasted me this long."

"You have a lot of those left, then?" Dean asked, raising an eyebrow. Emmanuel drew his lips into a thin line and didn't answer. Dean smiled.

"Guess we're sharing mine," he said, pushing himself to his feet. He snagged the tinderbox from the ground and headed back towards Chevy. Her ears flicked towards him as he approached, but she kept grazing on the patches of grass in the little clearing. Dean patted her on the shoulder and dug through the saddlebags again to find the venison jerky and the bread he'd packed.

He headed back to the growing fire, dinner in hand, to find Emmanuel staring at him in surprise. Dean sat himself back down and held one of the choicier bits of jerky out to Em.

"Here," Dean said. Em stared at it for a moment, then at Dean, then gingerly reached out and took it. He took a dainty bite, eyes flying wide open as the spices and smoke flooded across his tongue.

"It's good," Em said, taking a larger bite. He looked at Dean as he swallowed. "Thank you."

Dean grinned and waved him off, taking a bite of his own strip.

"Got plenty more where that came from," he said with his mouth full. "Twelve point stag, took it down all by myself."

"I take it that's meant to be impressive?" Em asked. Dean snorted a laugh, unable to help himself.

"Yeah, generally it is," he said.

They ate in a companionable silence for several minutes. Finally, when they were done, Dean packed away the remaining rations and grabbed his bedroll, his weapons care kit, and the dirk he'd luckily found again after the skirmish with the bandits.

He'd been given the blade when he'd been knighted and he'd hate to see it rust. He had wiped most of the mud off before resheathing it to transport, so it wasn't in horrid condition, but the state it was in was no way to leave it overnight. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Emmanuel following suit with his own weapons.

"Nice sword," Em commented, looking at the blade. Dean smiled proudly.

"My parents had it made for me on my eighteenth birthday," he said. It was true enough, though his birthday was definitely not the reason he'd been gifted the dirk. He didn't really want to tell Em about being a knight, though. He didn't want the other man to think he was bragging or hopped up on his own importance.

He just wanted to be Dean for a while. Not a knight of Kanaan, not the Crown Prince who was to be married in a month.

Just Dean.

Em made a thoughtful noise in the back of his throat even as he turned his attention back to his throwing knives, inviting Dean to continue speaking. Dean figured he could use the opportunity to steer the conversation into less difficult waters.

Problem was, what to ask?

Emmanuel was an enigma and Dean didn't know the first thing about him. He didn't want to pry, but he was burning with curiosity about where Emmanuel was from, why he'd run despite being so obviously unprepared, what his family was like.

"So," Dean started, casting his mind around for something to talk about. "Which way are we heading in the morning?"

Em looked up, frowning in confusion.

"'We'?" Em asked. Dean nodded, a bit confused himself.

"I was serious about the offer of a hot meal and a drink," he said. "Least I can do since you saved my life, and a little bit of jerky doesn't count."

Em opened his mouth as if to protest, then shut it, visibly weighing his options. Dean stayed quiet, but hopeful.

Finally, Em nodded reluctantly. Dean grinned

"So, we going north or south?" Dean asked, quite pleased with himself. Em shrugged.

"I have no particular destination in mind," he said. Dean nodded.

"North it is, then; Elbann is less than a day away." He finished with his dirk and laid it in its sheath next to where he planned to lay out his bedroll. "Still, don't want to have to sleep outside tomorrow night if we don't make it before they close the gate, so we should probably turn in."

Dean rolled his bedding out, close to the fire but not so close that he had to worry about waking up aflame.

"You're probably right," Em said, though he made no move to get his own bedding and instead just set down the knife he'd finished cleaning and picked up the second. "I will once I finish with these."

Dean thought he probably shouldn't feel so comfortable with the idea of going to sleep in front of a complete stranger who was holding a knife, even if that same stranger had saved his life that same day, but he was surprisingly fine with it. Emmanuel wouldn't hurt him.

Dean chuckled as he made himself comfortable on his bedroll. Tiny mental images of Benny and Sam were running through his mind, yelling at him for being reckless, but he shushed them and closed his eyes.

"Night, Em," he said.

"Goodnight, Dean."


	3. Elbann

Castiel was awoken shortly after dawn by a hand on his shoulder and a soft voice saying, "Em".

He groaned and turned, only to realize that his back ached and his pillow was not half as soft as it should be, and smelled of damp, decaying leaves.

The person trying to wake him chuckled and shook him so gently it felt more like being rocked and had a much more soporific effect than an energizing one.

"We have to get going or we're not gonna make it to Elbann tonight," the voice said. Cas blinked himself awake, annoyed and just wanting  _ five more minutes, if you please, Hannah- _

Except when he twisted his neck to glare, it wasn’t Hannah crouching next to him with an amused grin.

"Good morning," Dean said cheerfully, somehow bright-eyed and bushy-tailed despite the ungodly hour. Castiel pushed himself to a sitting position and rubbed at his eyes, glare weakening into a faint scowl.

"Morning," he said. Dean laughed and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Come on, you can sleep on the horse," he said. He stood and Castiel looked around, noticing that the camp had been broken down and the ashes of their fire scattered.

He looked over to Dean, who was guiding Chevy into the camp by the reins. Her saddlebags were already packed and Dean's bedroll had been neatly rolled and attached. Castiel even spotted his own bag tied up with the others.

His hand instinctively went to the little pouch attached to his belt and found it still there. He dipped his hand in and came out with the peppermint salve, quickly smearing it around his neck before tucking it away again and reluctantly pushing himself up.

Cas rolled up his bedding with clumsy hands. He blinked tiredly, but in short order he had a bundle of blankets that was, while not as neat as Dean's, at least serviceable. He wordlessly handed it to Dean and Dean strung it up with the rest of their things before mounting Chevy.

"Shall we, then?" Dean asked, extending a hand to help pull Cas up behind him.

Cas paused for a moment, reality catching up with him as he wondered if he really should get onto a strange alpha's horse, if he trusted Dean that much.

Naomi would definitely Not Approve and that, coupled with the kindness Dean had shown him the night before, decided him. He placed his hand in Dean's and let himself be drawn up into the saddle, settling behind Dean. He tried to keep some space between their bodies, not wanting to infringe on Dean's personal space.

It had been a long time since he'd been permitted to ride a horse astride like this. It was considered too  _ indecent _ , and since he hated riding sidesaddle in someone's lap, it had been years since he'd been on a horse. He'd forgotten how much he'd enjoyed it.

"You're going to have to get a little closer than that," Dean said, amusement in his voice. 

Cas slid himself forward, pressing his body up against Dean's and shifting to get comfortable. Dean breathed in sharply, like Castiel had pressed too hard against somewhere tender, and Cas frowned.

"Sore?" he asked. The ground had been rather full of large stones and protruding roots, and Cas hadn't noticed just how many until he'd woken up and his back had made its complaints known.

"Nope," Dean said, a bit too brightly, but Cas let it go. Dean cleared his throat. "You're, ah... going to have to hold on."

Castiel wrapped his arms around Dean's waist and laid his head against Dean's back. 

He heard and felt Dean take a long, slow breath.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"Never better," Dean said, and though it didn't quite ring true, Cas was too comfortable and too sleepy to press further.

Dean clicked his tongue and set Chevy off at a slow amble through the woods. Castiel felt his eyes drift shut.

Dean  _ had _ said he could sleep on the horse.

He tightened his grip to make sure he wouldn't fall. Dean was  _ very _ warm and his scent was  _ very _ comforting and the horse's motion was  _ very _ lulling.

Cas drifted off with the smell of cinnamon and leather and alpha musk settling heavy around him like the softest blanket.

* * *

The journey had been fairly easy. Castiel had woken up just before they'd made it to the main road around midday, at which point they had stopped to let the horse rest and to eat lunch. They'd shared more of Dean's rations, much to Castiel's shame. Somehow, he'd thought living off of the land would ben much easier than it had proved to be.

The sole saving grace was Dean's humor about Castiel's ineptitude. It wasn't the mockingly sympathetic 'well, you're an omega, of course you can't' that Cas had gotten at home when he tried and failed at something outside of domestic arts, but a sympathy for Castiel's supposedly sheltered upbringing and a true pride whenever Cas proved himself to be an apt student. Dean didn't condescend, and that helped the conversation flow easily between them, though Cas was careful to keep it from straying towards his family or his past. Dean hadn't pried, which made it easier.

They arrived in Elbann just before dusk and the close of the gate. They dismounted and walked in, Dean leading Chevy by the reins. The town was considerably smaller than the cities Castiel had seen before, but it boasted a fully-equipped inn with a tavern and an attached stable.

"Nice place," Dean commented dubiously as they approached the inn. Castiel was inclined to agree; the noises from the tavern were audible even from a distance and the building itself looked old. The wood was dark with streaks of rot and dirt, especially at the base of the building, and there was a window boarded up with old planks, as if the window had been broken and the owners had never bothered to repair it.

The overall effect was rather unwelcoming, but Cas supposed that being the only inn in town meant that looks didn't really affect business.

"At least there will be beds," Cas said. His body ached for the comfort of a bed. He hadn't truly appreciated just how difficult sleeping rough was until he'd had to endure it himself.

Dean chuckled.

"There is that," he said. He glanced towards the stable, which at least looked newer and in better condition that the inn itself, and then at his horse. "It'll do for the night."

He looked back at Cas.

"You want to head in and get us a room?" he asked. "I have to get Chevy settled first."

"Sure," Cas said without thinking. He paused. "I don't exactly..."

Money had never been something he'd dealt with, at least not on a personal level. He could order goods or trinkets, but any actual money or bartering was done by either his mother or his guard. He hadn't managed to get his hands on any coin when he'd fled the palace, but he'd assumed he could simply forage until he found work and could earn his way.

Dean seemed to understand. He nodded, realization on his face, and dug into the small purse tied at the front of his belt. He drew out a gold coin and handed it to him as though it was no more than a copper piece.

"That should more than cover it, and two plates of whatever they're serving for dinner. I'll meet you in a few minutes," Dean said, nodding towards the door. Castiel wrapped his hand around the gold piece, slightly stunned, wondering what kind of wealth Dean had to so readily trust a stranger with a gold coin.

Well, maybe not so much a 'stranger' anymore, Castiel mused.

Dean had already turned away and was leading Chevy to the stables, speaking soothingly to her. Cas could hear the cadence of his voice if not the words.

He looked towards the door to the inn, imagining his way through it to the rowdy tavern beyond, and steeled himself. With all the confidence he could muster, he closed the last of the distance between himself and the building and walked in.

The smell hit him first, the reek of sweat, alcohol, and alpha thick enough to choke on. 

Castiel wrinkled his nose in disgust.

A few people glanced over at the sound of the door opening, but most remained deep in their own conversations and their cups. Cas spotted a counter across the room that looked to be the place to rent a room, get a drink, or order food. It was a long, sturdy wooden structure that stood a little more than waist height, with several tapped barrels set into the wall behind it and an open doorway through which Castiel could see lots of activity. The kitchen, if he had to guess.

He made his way towards it, squeezing past chairs and tables and dodging the wide, expansive gestures of the excited drunks telling tall tales of derring-do. When he finally made it to the counter, he flagged down one of the women behind it; a middle-aged alpha lady with brown hair down to her shoulders. She made her way over to him, leaving the younger blonde woman to apparently take drink orders from a group of young men of mixed designations.

"Hello, there. What'll it be?" she asked him, voice pure business.

"I need a room for the night," Castiel said. "Dinner for two, and one stable berth."

She eyed him speculatively, eyes lingering on the dirt smears on his clothes and overall fairly haggard appearance. Her expression softened.

"I can do that for four silver," she said. "Or one-and-a-half, if you don't mind sleeping in the stable with the horse."

Castiel's face burned. He ducked his head and put the gold coin on the counter in front of her.

"The room, please," he said. The woman's eyes widened and she took the gold coin, turning it over once as if to be sure the gold was genuine. Satisfied it was, she looked back up at him.

"Anything else you want?" she asked him. Castiel thought a moment.

"What's there to drink?" he asked. The woman indicated the barrels behind her.

"We've got beer, ale, cider, and some of the best mead you've ever had," she said, a hint of pride coloring her voice at the end. Castiel nodded.

"I'll take two pints of that, then," he said. The woman nodded and, after some quick mental recalculations of his total, tucked the gold coin away and drew out a half-gold piece, two silver, and a few coppers from the purse hidden under her apron. Castiel took them and tucked them away inside the pouch that held his peppermint salve. He'd give the change to Dean later.

"Go ahead and find yourself a seat," she said, nodding towards the tavern at large. "I'll send Jo-" She indicated the younger woman currently filling two tankards from one of the barrels. "-out soon with your food and the room key. You need one bed or two?"

"Two, please," Cas said immediately. He didn't want to think about the implications of one bed.

The woman nodded and turned towards a small door to the right of the kitchen Castiel hadn't noticed before. She disappeared into it, presumably to get the key and secret the gold coin away somewhere safe.

Castiel turned back towards the tavern at large and spotted a small table nestled in a corner that was in the process of being vacated. He picked his way through the crowded room and sat at the table, gingerly poking the abandoned drinks and empty cups towards the table's edge.

Just then, a shadow fell over him. He looked up and smiled when he saw Dean, who seemed equally pleased to see him.

"So, is this seat taken?" Dean asked in a joking tone, eyes twinkling as he indicated the other chair at the table. Castiel frowned in confusion.

"Yes," he said. Surprise barely had a chance to flicker across Dean's face before Cas continued. "It's yours, unless... did you not mean for us to eat together?"

Dean blinked owlishly for a moment, then shook his head and laughed as he sat down.

"You are something else, Em," he said. Cas was about to ask if that was meant as a compliment when Jo came up to their table with a large basket on her hip.

"Hello, gentlemen," she said. She indicated the dirty dishes. "If you don't mind, I'll get some of these out of your way so I've got a place to put your bowls."

"Go ahead," Dean said, leaning back a bit to let the woman - also an alpha, if Cas's nose wasn't deceiving him - pick up the cups left behind. Cas followed suit. "I take it there's some kind of stew for dinner?"

"Venison," Jo replied. "And bread to go with."

"Sounds delicious," Dean said.

"Very," Jo said. She gave him a brief but appreciative once-over, and then, with the last of the dishes packed into the basket, she gave them both a smile.

"Be right out," she said, and whisked away.

  
  


* * *

"Another drink?" Dean asked, nodding his head towards Emmanuel's almost empty mug. Em smiled and nodded gratefully.

"It's very good," he said by way of explanation. Dean chuckled as he got up from the table.

"It's just mead," he said. Very good mead, but still just mead. Em shrugged a shoulder, looking into his drink.

"I haven't had it before," he said. Dean paused for a moment, instantly feeling like an ass.

Where had Emmanuel come from, that he hadn't had mead before? Sure, beer was more common, but Dean hadn't come across many taverns that didn't also offer mead.

"I'm glad you're enjoying it, then," Dean said. Em shot a quick smile up at him, relieved, and Dean felt his heart do a strange little flip.

"I'll be right back," he blurted. He headed for the bar, mentally shaking himself. He was Prince Dean; he was suave and charming and he made  _ other _ people flustered. Alphas with gorgeous blue eyes and rose petal lips and sweet smiles and-

Point was. Dean didn't get flustered, especially not over something as simple as a  _ smile _ .

He was more than halfway to the bar when he finally tuned back in to his surroundings. 

The bar was crowded despite the hour, a testament to how good the alcohol and the service was, and Dean took a moment to look for the easiest way to get the attention of the blonde woman who had brought their food earlier, who was currently flirting with two younger men to one side of the bar.

It was then that he noticed an older man, alpha by the look of him, leaning too far into the personal space of a young, red-headed woman on the opposite side of the bar from the barmaid and her admirers. He had a tight grip on her arm and a lecherous smile on his face. The girl had a wide, nervous expression and was leaning as far back as she could without falling down and possibly dragging the man down on top of her.

Dean didn't think. He acted.

Dean walked quickly over to that side of the bar. As he got closer, his nose told him what he'd already suspected. The man was indeed an alpha and drunk off his face to boot. The redhead was an omega, her sweet, flowery scent turned sour with disgust.

"Come on, sweetheart," the man was saying. "I can make it  _ real _ good for you."

"I already told you, I'm not-" the woman said, but the alpha wasn't listening.

"Never had any complaints," he said in what he probably thought was a persuasive manner. "All you omegas want is a nice, thick-"

The space beside the man was empty. Probably vacated by someone who noticed what was happening but didn't want to get involved, Dean thought with distaste. No matter, it worked in his favor. He crept up and leaned sideways against the bar behind the drunk Alpha, cocked his hip out and plastered on his most charming fake smile. Being royalty meant he'd had plenty of practice.

"Well, hello there, handsome," he said loudly, in the most effeminate voice he could muster. The man stopped speaking and turned to look, a sloppy grin on his face and his hand still gripping the omega's arm, though a bit more loosely than before. The woman was looking at Dean with cautious hope, holding perfectly still lest the drunk man holding her remembers she was there.

Then the alpha caught a whiff of Dean and the unmistakable musk of another alpha. He instantly recoiled as though he'd been slapped in the face with a rotting fish. 

"Not interested," the alpha growled. Dean laughed and flirtatiously laid a hand on the alpha's forearm. The man jerked it away. Dean continued, undeterred.

"Oh come on, a big,  _ strong _ alpha like you..." he said, his voice sugary sweet. "Bet you could show someone like me a real good time."

He gave the man's shoulder a playful pat, letting his touch linger. The alpha roughly shrugged off the touch and turned to face Dean completely, letting go of the omega's arm.

Well, that was easier than he'd thought it would be. Objective one accomplished.

" _ Real _ alphas don't fuck other alphas," the man said. He was so condescending Dean could taste the man's venom on his tongue. Dean felt a sardonic smile twist his lips.

"You sound just like my dad," he said. "Kind of a turn off, really."

It was one of the reasons John had agreed to marry Dean off in the first place, no matter how much of a joke the marriage clause in the treaty was. At least Dean would be marrying an  _ omega _ .

"Fuck off," the alpha growled. "Go find some other freak to fuck you, I ain't doing it."

" _ Oh _ ," Dean said, in the air of one who has only just gotten the joke. He continued, voice dropping quickly into his normal register as his words became biting. "You mean you  _ don't _ like being hit on by someone you're not into, repeatedly, when you've told them to stop?" Dean indicated the omega, who was staring at Dean in shock and amazement. "What makes you think  _ she _ does, you disgusting, parasitic jackass?"

The man shouted in rage and took a swing at Dean, but anger made him sloppy and Dean blocked the blow easily. He grabbed the man's wrist and twisted it, using the hold to turn and pin him facedown on the bar.

Peripherally, Dean was aware that the whole tavern had gone silent, holding its collective breath to see what would happen. The omega had retreated, out of reach of the violence, and that was all Dean cared about at the moment.

The alpha was struggling, shouting obscenities and trying to yank his arm free or hit Dean with his remaining hand. The angle was too poor for any of the blows to actually hurt, so Dean just waited, steadily applying more and more pressure to the man's trapped arm until the pain finally choked him and he fell silent.

"You done now?" Dean asked conversationally. The drunk alpha let out a muttered, high-pitched curse, which Dean decided to take as an affirmation.

"So, here's what's gonna happen," Dean continued. "I'm going to let you up and you're going to take your sorry ass out of this tavern and go find somewhere to sleep it off. When you wake up, with what I hope is the worst hangover ever, you're going to think about what you did and make some better decisions next time. Understood?"

The alpha thrashed and cursed again, but when Dean's hands didn't so much as budge, he gave in.

"All right, you bastard. Let me up," the alpha snarled. Dean let go and stepped back. The alpha rose, rubbing his wrist and glaring. He looked like he was sizing Dean up to see if it was worth having another go.

Dean nodded towards the door of the tavern, never taking his eyes off the other man.

"You going to leave or do I need to walk you out," Dean said flatly. The drunk alpha seemed to think better of throwing another punch at Dean and ducked his head sulkily as he walked towards the door, chairs shuffling and people leaning to give him a wide berth as he passed. Dean watched him go, wary of an attack to his unprotected back. Men like that had no honor.

However, the man left without further incident. Dean gave the rest of the still-quiet tavern a stern 'be about your business' look and the other patrons quickly found other things to occupy themselves with. Conversations started up again, accompanied by the sound of wooden mugs scraping along the tables. Dean ignored the lingering stares and the whispers and turned to face the omega.

She hadn't gone far. She was standing just beyond the edge of the bar, staring at Dean in surprise, awe, and a little suspicion. She was young, Dean realized, perhaps ten years his junior. Dean smiled at her.

"Hey," he said gently. She nodded back at him.

"Hello," she said.

"You here alone, or...?" Dean asked, looking around in hopes that the girl had some friends with her. A tavern this rowdy, this late at night, was no place for an omega to be on their own. Sure, he'd scared one creep off, but that didn't mean there weren't others.

The suspicion in the redhead's eyes sharpened. Dean held up his hands in a placating gesture.

"Just don't want some other knothead coming up after I leave," he said. The omega considered this for a moment, then nodded.

"I'm a merchant's assistant," she said. "Master Shurley should be back any minute now, he just ran upstairs to get his journal."

Dean raised his eyebrows, impressed. It was exceedingly rare for an omega of any sex to take work that required so much travel. The roads could be dangerous for a lady, and that went double for an omega.

The woman rolled her eyes.

"I know what you're thinking, but I can take care of myself, this whole-" she said, waving her hand vaguely in a gesture to encompass the entire tavern. "-nonwithstanding. If he'd actually tried to take me anywhere or touch more than my arm, well..."

She looked around, but the rest of the tavern patrons had already lost interest. She quietly slipped a hand out of the folds of her red dress and revealed a small, sharp stiletto. Dean laughed, equal parts amused and relieved.

"Run into his type a lot?" he asked. The woman nodded, expertly twirling the blade once before sliding the dagger back into a cleverly concealed pocket.

"Chuck normally deters them, but if he isn't enough, showing the knife normally does the trick." She made a face. "Though I did have to stab someone once."

Dean chuckled.

"Well, in that case, I'll leave you to it. But if you need anything-" He turned and gestured to the small table where he and Emmanuel were sat. "-me and my friend are right over there."

The woman smiled and relaxed, obviously relieved that Dean hadn't been trying to play the white knight in order to flirt with her.

"Thank you," she said. Dean winked and waved a hand.

"Have a good night," he said. He turned and moseyed his way to the other side of the bar, where the barmaid was now wiping out the inside of a few wooden mugs, her conversation partners having apparently moved on.

"Excuse me," Dean called. She looked up and grinned.

"Good show," she said. "What can I get for you?"

He returned her grin with a dazzling one of his own.

"Two pints of mead, please," he said. He reached into his money pouch while she quickly filled two mugs with mead. She set the two wooden mugs in front of him and when he moved to hand her a few coppers, she waved him off.

"On the house," she said, sending a significant glance towards the end of the bar, where the redheaded omega has been joined by an older man in somewhat shabby clothing. Her employer, Dean guessed, since she seemed to be excitedly babbling at him about something. "For services rendered, let's say."

Dean's grin turned rueful and he nodded.

"Would've rather not needed to intervene, but thank you," he said, tucking his money pouch back away. He wound his way back through the bar with a bit of a spring in his step, finally washing back up at the table.

"Here you go," he said, setting one mug in front of Emmanuel before sitting in his own chair. Emmanuel took the mug with a thankful if absent nod, staring at Dean curiously.

"What happened?" Emmanuel asked, looking over at the bar.

"Knothead was picking on an omega," Dean said, shrugging a shoulder. Emmanuel seemed stunned.

"And you... stood up for the omega," he said, like he couldn't quite believe it. Dean frowned.

"Yes...?" he said slowly. A dark thought occurred to him. "You're not... ah, a big believer in 'tradition', are you?"

Emmanuel looked murderous at the very thought.

"No," he said, then visibly calmed himself. "My family was very traditional, though. It's one of the reasons I left."

Score another point in the 'Emmanuel is escaped nobility' category. The common folk usually weren't so hung up on designation, though you did still find pockets of people who held on to the old ways.

Dean wasn't prepared to say that common omegas had it good, but at least they weren’t treated like property. Not anymore, at least.

Emmanuel looked down into his mug, affecting nonchalance.

"I've just never seen an alpha stick up for an omega before. Not unless it was a matter of property rights," he said bitterly. Dean winced.

"Yeah, I hear you," he said. He nodded towards the door of the tavern. "Alphas like that, you just have to give them a taste of their own medicine. They hate that."

"I would say so," Emmanuel said, glancing towards the door the drunk alpha had left through. He seemed content with that and took a sip of his mead. Dean rolled his mug between his hands, looking from it to Em and then back again.

He waited. He scratched the back of his neck and blew out a breath.

Em seemed entirely unperturbed.

"You're not going to say anything?" Dean asked eventually, unable to take the awkward silence anymore. Em looked puzzled, like he was not entirely sure where he lost track of the conversation but would very much like a map to find his way back.

"About?" he asked, lifting his mug for another sip. Dean raised both his eyebrows.

"About?" he said. "Me, an alpha, hitting on another alpha. A  _ male _ alpha."

His father would have had plenty to say about the matter, even if Dean had been joking. 

That sort of 'joke' was a little too on the nose and a little too revealing for John's taste.

Dean didn't give a fuck about what the townspeople thought, but Emmanuel's opinion mattered. And not just because Dean was kind of hoping to tumble him.

Even people who claimed not to follow tradition with regards to omega rights could still have very strong, very violent opinions on what kinds of relations were acceptable and which were abnormal and vile.

"... you said it was to teach him a lesson?" Em hazarded, as though unsure where this topic was coming from.

"Most people are kind of leery of an alpha that'll hit on an alpha of the same sex," Dean said. When Em just looked more confused, Dean let out a long breath. "You know? 'No unfruitful union'? 'Keep marriage pure'?"

"I don't see what religion has to do with this, and I already told you I'm not very traditional," Em said. "It was an act."

"And if it wasn't?" Dean asked, folding his arms on the table and leaning forward. He didn't dare break eye contact with Emmanuel, alert for any sign of realization, of disgust. "If I  _ am _ the type of alpha who hits on other alphas with the same fun-parts?"

Emmanuel thought about it for a moment, slowly lowering his mug back to the table. 

Dean held his breath.

If Emmanuel turned out to be a jackass, they could part ways here, no harm done. Sure, Dean might be a bit disappointed, but there were plenty of other beautiful people out there. He'd find another alpha if he really wanted one.

"Then you're very brave," Em said thoughtfully. "People don't like those who don't act as expected. Those of us who aren't what society wants us to be."

Dean leaned back in his chair, breathing out. Relief poured through him, and with it, a good dose of giddiness that Emmanuel had included  _ himself _ when talking about society's rejects.

Maybe there was a little hope after all.

"Yeah, tell me about it," Dean said. He lifted his mug. "To the unexpected."

Em lifted his mug in solidarity. They drank. Dean set his mug down with a content sigh, having drained half of it in one go.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed movement. Someone was heading their way and he tensed.

Just because Emmanuel didn't have a problem with him didn't mean nobody at the bar would.

Dean turned, ready to defend himself if necessary, then paused, surprised, as the redheaded omega he'd helped came marching up to their table, the scruffy man Dean took for Master Shurley following behind her. She stopped just at the edge of their table and smiled brightly.

"How would you two like a job?" she asked.

Dean blinked slowly. He glanced at Emmanuel for help, but Em seemed just as confused as he was.

"... a job," Dean repeated. She nodded enthusiastically.

"I'm Charlotte Bradbury, but everyone calls me Charlie," she said. She motioned behind her, to where the older man was standing with an awkward but hopeful expression on his face. His scent was that of old books and the barest hint of alpha musk. "And this is Master Chuck Shurley, paper merchant extraordinaire."

"Pleased to meet you," Chuck said.

"You, too," Dean replied automatically. "But what's this about a job?"

"Let me explain," Charlie said. She gestured between herself and Master Shurley. "So Chuck and I-"

"-Master Shurley-" Chuck corrected half-heartedly. Charlie ignored him.

"-were heading up to Rhoads for the market when our cart's axel broke just outside Elbann. We managed to get it fixed, but..." Charlie shrugged. "Well, let's just say the guardsmen we'd hired for the trip up from Masset didn't stick around. So we still need to get to Rhoads, but it's not exactly safe for the two of us to travel alone, especially to market."

Dean could understand. A cart filled with tradable goods would be a prime target for any bandits, especially if the only obstacles were an omega and an alpha well past his prime.

"You want us as guardsmen?" Emmanuel asked, sounding surprised. Chuck and Charlie both nodded.

"If you're anything like your friend here," Charlie said, nodding at Dean. "-then yes. Honestly even if you're not, as long as you can look imposing."

"I can pay you," Chuck said quickly. "Five gold each for the trip? Food and lodging on the way."

Dean considered for a moment. Rhoads was a good three days' travel by horse and lugging a cart with them would certainly slow them down. He wasn't sure if he really wanted to spend the better part of a week playing at being a guard when this trip was supposed to be all about having a good time.

He stole a glance at Emmanuel. The other alpha was deep in thought, brow furrowed consideringly. Charlie and Chuck were looking at the pair of them hopefully, Charlie biting her lip.

"I do need the work," Emmanuel finally said. He looked up. "I'll go with you."

Aw, hell.

"Looks like you got yourself some guardsmen," Dean said, grinning. No reason he couldn't have some fun on the journey.

Charlie clapped excitedly and Chuck visibly relaxed. He grabbed a chair and pulled it up to the table, Charlie following suit, and the older alpha leaned forward.

"Ok, so we'll need to leave tomorrow at first light..."


	4. On the Road

Chuck was as good as his word. Morning light saw Dean and Cas coming down the stairs from their room to find Charlie and Chuck already awake and waiting for them. Chuck had bought ample amounts of fruit, cheese, bread, and jerky for the trip, and apologetically explained that since they were on a bit of a tight schedule, they wouldn't be able to spend the night at another inn until the next evening.

Castiel was not looking forward to sleeping outside again, but for the promised five gold coins, he would bear it.

The day passed fairly uneventfully, with Dean riding a little ways ahead on Chevy and Cas sitting in front of the cart next to Chuck with a crossbow in his lap. Charlie was hidden away inside the cart itself, keeping an eye on the road behind them to make sure nobody snuck up on them.

Castiel wasn't quite sure what to make of Charlie.

He'd met other omegas before, of course. His mother had attempted to engineer friendships between himself and other 'appropriate' omegas, none of which had ever worked out. The omegas Naomi had approved of were all delicate, willowy things perfectly content with their lot in life, or at the very least were much better at pretending to be than Castiel was.

Charlie was a stark contrast to every omega Castiel had met before; she was vivacious and charming and  _ happy _ . Castiel would have envied her quite a bit if she wasn't such a delight to be around.

They took a brief break for lunch in a grassy field just off the side of the road, where they could still see any fellow travelers or any threats before they were close enough to do harm.

There weren't many people passing by. There were a few other carts with varying levels of protection walking alongside, several people on foot heading in either direction, and a group of people on horseback coming from the north.

As they drew closer, Castiel recognized the rider at the head of the party. Even dressed in common clothing, Cas knew that face.

Ion.

Cas ducked his head and busied himself with something in Chuck's cart, not caring what and not daring to lift his head until the pounding of hooves faded into the distance.

He breathed again.

He'd known his mother would send knights after him, but it was one thing to know it and another to see it.

He rejoined the others where they sat in a loose circle, his heart still beating rapidly. He focused his attention on the others, grounding himself in the moment to try and calm down without the others noticing.

Chuck was writing something in his journal, completely absorbed in his task and eating only absently. Dean was eating his food, casually surveying the surrounding area out of what seemed like habit more than anything else. Charlie was humming to herself and smiling with an almost dreamy expression in her eyes.

"You that excited to get to the market?" Dean asked over his share of the bread and cheese. Charlie shook her head.

"Nope!" she said. "It's just... Gilda is in Rhoads. I'm excited to see her."

"Gilda?" Cas asked. Charlie nodded, practically bouncing.

"My girlfriend," she said, a touch of pride in her voice. "She's a seamstress; she actually made this for me." Charlie indicated her gown, which was definitely nicer than Chuck's clothing and should've been too expensive for her to otherwise afford as the man's apprentice.

"And the sooner we all finish eating and get going, the sooner you'll be able to see her," Chuck said, his tone gentler than the words suggested. Charlie immediately brought her chunk of bread up to her mouth and made a show of taking a huge bite, far too big to chew. Chuck sighed in fond exasperation as Dean burst into laughter.

Cas chuckled too, but far more quietly, and found his eyes drawn more to Dean than to the admittedly funny sight of Charlie trying to chew with her cheeks as distended as a chipmunk's who'd just found a horde of acorns.

Dean's eyes had little laugh lines around them, Cas noticed. His mirth seemed to light up not only his face, but the whole field, and Cas imagined he could feel the warmth radiating from Dean as though the man were a miniature sun.

Then Charlie followed up the bread with an equally large bite of cheese, looking rather pleased with herself when Dean actually threw back his head to laugh.

Castiel's eyes trailed along the curve of Dean's neck, his Adam's apple, down to where his collarbone disappeared into his tunic. He found himself curious, scenting the air just to catch a whiff of cinnamon and leather.

Then he realized what he was doing and shook himself.

This was  _ not _ the time to discover any heretofore unknown aspect of his sexuality, let alone explore it. He'd been contentedly disinterested for as long as he could remember, so why now? Why Dean?

Castiel shelved the thoughts firmly and turned his attention back to his meal, unaware of the way Charlie watched him, chewing thoughtfully, before looking at Dean.

* * *

Dusk was just beginning to fall when they decided to break for the night. Dean tossed his tinderbox to Emmanuel, who caught it, looking bemused.

"You remember what I taught you?" Dean asked. Em nodded. Dean grinned and winked. "Why don't you get a fire going and I'll see if I can scare us up something to eat?"

Dean borrowed Chuck's crossbow and promised he wouldn't leave shouting distance, then walked off into the growing twilight in search of a rabbit or a bird with enough meat on it to be worth bringing down.

He moved slowly in a wide circle around the camp, far enough that the sounds of conversation were muted. He moved silently, crossbow bolt already loaded as he scanned the ground for prey.

Turned out he hadn't been lying when he told Sam and Benny he was going hunting.

It took him almost a half-hour of walking, stopping, and squinting as the world grew darker around him before he finally spotted a rabbit only ten yards away. He dropped it in a single shot and retrieved the carcass and the bolt before heading back to camp.

He could see the glow of the campfire as he drew closer and he grinned, proud. The fire was roaring merrily when he finally got close enough to see his companions, all three of them seated on some old blankets that were placed a prudent distance from the flames.

Charlie spotted him first and waved. Emmanuel and Chuck both turned to see Dean walk into the circle of light cast by the fire.

"Good job, Em," Dean said, clapping the man on the shoulder with the hand not carrying the rabbit. He plopped himself down on the ground, not bothering with a blanket just yet since the messiest part of his job was yet to come. "Took me a bit, but how does rabbit sound for dinner?"

"Excellent," Em said with feeling. Charlie concurred, nodding.

"I got spoiled at the inn with fresh food every day," she said, eyeing the rabbit as Dean took out his knife to skin and clean it. "Made me forget how much I hate road rations."

"Hey, at least it keeps," Chuck said, a touch defensively. Then he, too, looked at the rabbit and sighed. "... but roasted meat does sound a lot better than days-old bread and jerky."

Dean was already at work preparing the meat for cooking, when he realized he'd forgotten something.

"Hey, Chuck?" he asked, looking up. "You got a gridiron or something in that cart we can cook this on?"

Chuck opened his mouth, but all that emerged was, "uh..."

Dean waved a hand; incidentally, the one holding the knife, which he quickly turned back to the task at hand.

"Never mind, we can improvise," he said. He turned to Em. "You got any sticks left that aren't in the fire?"

"A few," Em said.

"Awesome. You mind turning the sturdiest one into a stake? We can skewer this, it'll cook up just fine that way."

Em got up and retrieved one of his throwing knives, then grabbed the stick Charlie had selected for him, and got to work. In short order, the rabbit was cleaned, skewered, and set at an angle by the fire to roast.

"So..." Dean said, dumping some water from his waterskin on his hands and quickly washing them before wiping his hands dry on the bottom of his tunic. He cast his mind around for a topic of conversation, knowing they'd have a bit of a wait before dinner was ready. "You want to tell us about Gilda?"

Charlie beamed. Chuck shook his head but smiled indulgently, producing a leatherbound journal from somewhere and absorbing himself in scribbling something down with a piece of charcoal. Charlie either didn't notice or didn't care.

"Gilda is the kindest, sweetest, most gorgeous woman ever," Charlie said, almost swooning. "We met when she was an apprentice to an apothecary, but the guy was kind of a dick. Well, not kind of, he was a huge asshole, and Gilda was under contract so she couldn't just  _ leave _ , but I... ah, may have had a hand in getting the guy to cut her loose and set her up with a tailor friend of mine. For an apprenticeship," she tacked on hurriedly. "Definitely not the other kind of setting up. She took me out for drinks to thank me for rescuing her and well... we've been together ever since."

Dean made a thoughtful noise in the back of his throat.

"Weird jobs for an alpha," he said without thinking. Charlie looked down, her shoulders tense.

"That's because she isn't," Charlie said, voice low and a touch defensive. Em looked at her, brow furrowed, and Dean blinked.

"Beta?" he asked, though he knew the answer even before Charlie looked back up and met his stare dead-on.

"Nope," she said.

"Your partner is an omega?" Dean asked, stunned. Charlie watched him for a moment, almost daring him to say something.

"Do you have a problem with two omegas having a nice time together?" Charlie asked, inspecting her nails with a forceful display of nonchalance. Dean sputtered.

"No, I- that's not what I meant!" he said. He rubbed a hand over his face. "I mean, would be kind of hypocritical of me, wouldn't it? Since-" He cleared his throat. "Since I like other alphas just as much as I do omegas."

There. He'd said it.

Charlie brightened.

"Male alphas too, right?" she asked knowingly. "Not just the ladies?"

Dean rubbed at the back of his neck. His face felt hot, but he mentally blamed that on the fire.

"Yeah," he said. He felt lighter for having said it, especially now knowing which way Charlie's preferences ran. "What can I say, I appreciate a pretty face, no matter the sex or designation."

Charlie beamed and turned to Chuck.

"I believe that means you owe me a silver," she said, practically sing-song. Chuck gave a long-suffering sigh as Dean spluttered.

"Wha- were you  _ betting _ ?" he asked. Charlie laughed.

"After your little show at the tavern? Which, thank you again, by the way," she said. She shrugged and sipped her drink. "Takes one to know one. It's one of the reasons we offered you the job. People like us have to stick together."

Dean stared dumbly at her, but her attention had shifted to Emmanuel.

"And what about you?" she asked. "What floats your boat?"

"I don't have a boat," Em said, deadpan. Charlie laughed and Dean had to hide a chuckle with a sip from his waterskin, trying to pretend he wasn't extremely interested in Em's answer.

"I didn't mean a  _ literal _ boat," Charlie said, waving a hand. "What's your type?"

Emmanuel wasn't looking at them. He stared pensively at the fire instead, hands fidgeting with the hem of his tunic. Dean frowned.

"I don't have one," Em said again. Charlie stared at him, uncomprehending. Even Chuck looked up from where he'd been scribbling in his notebook.

"So like... you've never...?" Charlie asked, leaving the end of the question hanging in the air. Emmanuel seemed to shrink in on himself.

"I've never had occasion," he said. 

"You've had offers though, right?" Charlie asked, looking equal parts baffled and fascinated. Em opened his mouth to reply, visibly uncomfortable, but Dean interjected.

"If he doesn't want to talk about it, he doesn't have to," Dean said. "It's none of our business."

Though Dean would dearly love to make it his business. Charlie nodded, looking shamefaced, and Em shot him a grateful smile.

Dean smiled back, silently reassuring the other man, then turned his attention back to the fire.

"Rabbit's done on this side," he said, leaning forward and rotating the stake so the other side could roast. "Won't be long now."

* * *

Ion and his knights arrived in Elbann and dismounted just outside the gate. He turned to face the others.

"You have your orders," Ion said. "Notify me immediately if you find any relevant information."

The knights nodded and split into groups; Esper and Mirabel went to question the gatekeepers while Abner, Ishim, and Gadreel spread out through the town to ask if anyone had seen anything.

Ion took Uriel and Balthazar with him to inquire at the inn, leaving Samandriel, his squire, to mind the horses.

The tavern that made up the ground floor of the inn was bustling but not crowded this early in the afternoon. Uriel grimaced in distaste at the low-brow surroundings, scowling darkly at any of the peasants who dared look at them in askance.

Ion ignored the tavern's patrons and headed directly for the counter across the room. Behind it, there was a middle-aged woman with brown hair and a younger blonde woman who was cleaning out tankards with a rag. They looked up at his approach, the older one surreptitiously reaching for something hidden behind her desk.

"Can I help you?" the woman asked as Ion drew closer, the peasants who had been standing at the bar scattering before him.

"Are you the owner of this... establishment?" Ion asked, giving his surroundings a cursory sweep. The woman's face hardened.

"The name's Ellen, and yes I am," she said. Ion wondered briefly if she'd show less cheek if he was dressed to his station, if she realized she was talking to one of her betters, but it was a moot point. Knights in full regalia travelling the countryside, especially so close to the border, would attract unwanted attention.

Besides, they hardly wanted Kanaan getting wind that Elysium had lost its prince only a month before the wedding.

"We are searching for this man," Ion said, reaching into his side pouch and brandishing an artist's sketch rendering of the Prince. "He is wanted alive for questioning."

Ellen regarded him coolly and looked dutifully at the sketch, expression unchanging.

"What's he done?" she asked, reaching for it.

"He's a thief. He's taken something that doesn't belong to him and we need it back," Ion said, letting her take the drawing. She held it for a moment, something like recognition flickering in her eyes before her expression went bored again.

"There is a handsome reward for anyone who has information leading to his capture," Ion said, watching her closely. Ellen handed the sketch back to him.

"Can't help you," she said, giving him a hard look that dared him to challenge her. Ion narrowed his eyes.

"Can't, or won't?" he asked. Ellen's lips stretched into a thin line, but she was saved from having to reply by the doors to the tavern bursting open. Ion turned, hand heading for the pommel of his sword and Balthazar and Uriel in similar defensive positions at his sides, but it was only Ishim, escorting a man who was stick thin, dressed in rags, and favoring his wounded, heavily bandaged left shoulder.

"You found something?" Ion asked, straightening up. Ishim looked triumphant.

"This man here," Ishim said, indicating his companion. "He says he's seen our thief."

"Yeah, I've seen him," the man said, his voice nasally and a mercenary gleam in his eyes. "He attacked me on the road not too far from here, nearly killed me with one of those knives of his." The man gestured to his shoulder.

"Knives?" Ion asked, frowning. Nothing had been missing from the armory and the prince hadn't been allowed near a blade since his youth. He sighed internally.

So much for that lead.

"I still have the one he stuck me with," the man said, producing a ragged bundle of cloth. He unwrapped it to reveal an admittedly well-made knife, one Ion wouldn't have expected a peasant to be able to afford.

The man offered the blade for inspection and Ion took it, turning it over in his hands. He was about to hand it back and dismiss the man when he caught sight of Balthazar's expression.

The knight looked stricken, staring at the blade with bone-deep recognition. As if sensing Ion's eyes on him, Balthazar jerked his gaze up and quickly schooled his expression, but the damage had been done.

Ion tightened his grip on the knife's handle. Well, their little prince was full of surprises.

"Do you know where he went?" Ion asked. The man slowly shook his head, looking just as displeased as Ion felt.

"He was with another fellow, might still be travelling together," the man said. "The man had a black horse, stood about six feet. Brownish kind of hair, short, and blue... no, green eyes? Alpha."

An alpha.

Ion went cold with rage. His chances of bringing the prince back untarnished had just dropped by half, if he truly was travelling with an alpha.

"And you have no idea where they went?" Ion asked sharply. The man shook his head, looking a little irritated at Ion's demeanor.

"I told you, I have no idea," the man said. "They headed in this direction, but by the time I got here, they were gone."

Ion breathed out heavily through his nostrils. If he had to, he could apply  _ pressure _ to the proprietress until she talked. It was clear she knew  _ something _ and Ion needed that information, whatever the cost.

All in service to the Crown.

Ion had half-turned to storm back to the desk when another voice interrupted.

"You're looking for that green-eyed bastard?"

The knights and their informant all looked towards the newcomer. It was another alpha, with oily skin and scraggly hair that already smelled heavily of alcohol despite the hour, and a body that made it clear he commonly indulged.

"We're looking for a man he may be accompanying," Ion said. "The man we're looking for has dark hair and blue eyes, about six feet tall. Do you know where they went?"

The man puffed out his chest.

"Didn't see the guy you're looking for, but saw his friend," the man said. "I was at the bar, minding my business, having a nice conversation with this pretty little-"

"To the point. The location?" Ion said. He had no time to waste on pleasantries or listening to some drunkard spill his life story. Every minute was precious.

"-and he attacked me, threw me out!" the man said, getting more agitated and animated. "Came back the next day to teach him some manners and heard from my friends that he'd run. He's one of those  _ pansies _ -" he said, scowling as though someone had just shoved rotting dung under his nose. "-probably couldn't take a  _ real _ alpha in a fair fight-"

"All I want to know," Ion said, voice cutting through the man's griping like a knife. "Is where they went. Now."

The drunk alpha went quiet for a second, looking at Ion, and whatever he saw in Ion's face made him go pale.

"Rhoads. There's the big market up there, my friends said those two got hired on as guardsmen for some merchant. Left early yesterday morning."

Rhoads.

He and his knights had come down from that way, travelling the main road. They might have even crossed paths with their quarry and not realized.

Damn it.

"Thank you for your assistance," Ion said crisply, reaching into the pouch at his belt and tossing the drunk a gold coin. The man scrambled to catch it, greedy eyes lighting up at the sight. The man Ishim had brought opened his mouth to demand his share and Ion handed him a half-gold piece. "Now, be on your way."

His tone left no room for argument and the men scattered. Ion turned to Ishim and Balthazar, still holding the knife the first man had given him.

"Collect the others. We ride for Rhoads immediately," Ion said. Ishim nodded and left the tavern at speed.

Ion fixed Balthazar with a hard look.

"Walk with me," he said. Balthazar nodded, a quiet 'yes, sir' gusting past his lips.

Once outside the tavern and headed in the direction of the horses, Ion lifted the knife and held it out for Balthazar to see. Balthazar looked at it briefly and then looked away, eyes tight with worry.

"Does this truly belong to the prince?" Ion asked.

Balthazar hesitated.

"I'm not sure," he hedged. "I mean, it could be-"

"Balthazar," Ion said, voice low and deadly. "Have you forgotten your oaths?"

Every knight, upon receiving that title, swore oaths of fealty to the Crown. Balthazar may have been the prince's private guard, but his loyalty had been promised to the Queen above all else.

Balthazar stayed silent a moment longer, a pained expression on his face.

"It's his," he said quietly. "I'm the one who gave them to him."

Ion nodded, satisfied, and lowered the knife.

"Are there any other transgressions you wish to confess?" he asked. Then his mind caught on something and he narrowed his eyes. "'Them'?"

"It's a set. Four knives in total," Balthazar said, dropping his gaze to the ground. "And I have nothing more to confess."

Ion highly doubted that, but it would come out in due time.

They reached the horses and Ion tucked the knife away into his saddlebags, wrapping it in a spare tunic he'd brought. By then, the other knights had assembled and all were mounting up.

Ion hoisted himself up onto his own horse and faced his comrades.

"We ride to Rhoads," he said. "Keep your eyes open for any merchant caravans, and if you see our quarry, you are to consider him armed and possibly dangerous."

Ishim snorted a laugh.

"He's an omega," Ishim said dismissively. "What harm could he possibly do to any of us?"

Some of the other knights chuckled in agreement, though there looked to be at least a few that took Ion's warning seriously. Including, Ion noted, Balthazar, who among them was the most likely to be aware of any combat ability the prince had.

"Let's pray we don't find out," Ion said, turning to face the road, and spurred his horse forward.


	5. Rhoads

They got to Rhoads just after midday, almost a full half-day earlier than Chuck had been anticipating. The crowd was too thick to comfortably ride through, so Dean got off his horse and lead Chevy by the reins, following Chuck's shouted directions to turn down a side street off the main cobblestone thoroughfare. Cas stayed in the cart until Chuck signaled them to stop a short ways down the street, where the throng was much thinner. Cas jumped down from his seat at the front of the cart and moved to stand next to Dean, accepting his bag from Charlie when she handed it down to him with a smile.

"Thanks," he said, slinging it over his shoulder. Charlie waved him off, grinning.

"Thank  _ you _ . Both of you, so much," Chuck said, heartfelt. He twisted where he sat and brought out two small purses, heavy with coin, and handed one to each of them. "I can't thank you enough. Charlie and I have to go set up for tomorrow in the square, but if you want to meet us at the Dove & Dragonfly tonight at six, I'll buy dinner."

He pointed towards a building that was easily twice the size of the inn they'd stayed at in Elbann, and looked several years newer. The wooden planks making up the building hadn't had the time to gather the grime and dust just yet, and the base of the building was ringed by several layers of stones not yet fully concealed by moss and dirt. A wooden sign hung from the front of the building with a dragonfly and a dove carved into the surface, painted green and white.

"Sounds good to me," Dean said, tucking his earnings away into one of Chevy's saddlebags. Cas put his into his rucksack, too wary of cutpurses to risk tying his only money to his belt. "Don't suppose they have a stable?"

"Other side of the building," Charlie chirped, practically bouncing with excitement now that they'd made it to their destination.

"We'll see you tonight, then," Dean said. Charlie beamed.

"I'll bring Gilda!" she said.

Chuck and Charlie headed off towards the main square, going slowly and carefully so as not to run over anyone. Dean turned to Cas.

"Want to go exploring?" Dean asked, grinning. Cas nodded, unable to keep his excitement from his face, heart fluttering a little at the implication that Dean wanted to stay together for a little while longer.

"I'd like that," he said.

"Let me go see about getting my girl here set for the night. Be right back," Dean said. He clicked his tongue and turned, guiding Chevy towards the promised stables on the far end of the building.

"I'll be here," Cas said to Dean's retreating back. Dean raised his hand in acknowledgement and then both he and Chevy disappeared around the corner of the building.

Cas sighed and leaned back against the wall of the inn, looking around at all the humanity around him, fascinated.

He'd grown up in Haven's citadel. It was a place that oozed wealth and elegance, all stone brick buildings and houses, well-dressed servants tending to lavish gardens, and a high wall under constant guard to keep the common people in the lower town where they belonged. It had been said that a full fifth of the country's wealth resided in the citadel, and Castiel believed it.

It was a city of the elite for the elite by the elite. And at the heart of the citadel, the most magnificent of the buildings, the most richly decorated outer face, the most extravagant of the gardens, was the palace of the Elysium royal family.

After Castiel had presented, the cold stone walls and high gate keeping the lower town riffraff from even daring to looking upon the nobles who lived in the citadel were all he'd known. He hadn't been allowed to go anywhere, not even the market outside the citadel's gates. As a child, he'd been permitted to go into the forest on supervised hunts, but that too had stopped when he had presented as an omega.

Rhoads, by contrast, was a sprawling, bustling city with rows upon rows of buildings made from wood or mudbrick, with stone structures few and far between. Unlike the nearly empty streets of the citadel, Rhoads was constant motion, mud roads spilling onto the main cobble stone thoroughfare. Everywhere there was noise; people talking, laughing, arguing, haggling.

It was  _ life _ and Castiel was right there in the thick of it instead of being walled off from humanity by an army of heavily-armed knights.

He was pulled from his thoughts by the reappearance of Dean, now sans horse.

"Got us a room for the night too. Didn't want to come back and have them be full up," Dean said, holding up a key.

"'Us'?" Cas echoed, surprised. Sure, Dean had paid for the room back in Elbann, but that was recompense for Castiel's intervention with the bandits. He hadn't thought it would extend to a second night.

Not that he minded, and not just because Dean paying for the room meant that Castiel could save that expense.

Dean colored a bit and looked away, tucking the key back into the pouch on his belt.

"I mean, not that you have to, but I figured since we were eating dinner here, and they had a room with two beds, and a berth in the stable was cheaper if-"

"Dean," Cas said, smiling gently. "I don't mind."

Dean grinned. Castiel's heart did a strange little flip.

No, he didn't mind at all.

* * *

Dean and Emmanuel spent a good portion of the afternoon just walking and exploring all Rhoads had to offer. It was a true melting pot, with people from all over mixing and mingling and traders from every corner hawking their wares. The big market festival did not technically start until the next day, but a few merchants who had gotten in early had already set up their tents in the main square at the heart of Rhoads.

Dean saw smooth, shimmering fabric at a booth run by a merchant from across the sea, exotic spices piled high at another, and all manner of crafts; knitted woolen sweaters and furs from the north, intricate carvings and toys made from wood, delicate glass bottles of perfumes and oils.

Dean had been to markets before, but never one so large or so diverse. He was enjoying himself as they ambled their way through the rows upon rows of brightly colored tents, but by far, the best part was watching Emmanuel's face as they wandered.

Emmanuel looked awestruck at the variety of things surrounding them. He wanted to stop by every tent, see every merchant's wares, and seemed as enthralled as a child in a confectioner's shop. It was all Dean could do not to order one of everything Emmanuel touched, just to keep that look of wide-eyed wonder on his face.

Still, it had been hours since lunch and would be hours yet until they were due to meet Chuck and Charlie for dinner, so when Dean spotted a distinctive sign down a side street on the opposite end of the market from the Dove & Dragonfly, he nudged Em's shoulder with his own.

"You getting hungry?" he asked.

Em looked where Dean was pointing and saw the same thing Dean had; a wooden sign with a loaf of bread carved into it, attached to a small stone building that emanated the most enticing aromas. The wooden door to the place seemed to be in near-constant motion as people came and went, with each pass releasing the smells of freshly baked bread and sugar into the air.

Em's stomach rumbled, answering for him. Dean chuckled as Em ducked his head.

"Come on," Dean said, leading the way to the bakery. He paused briefly at the door to hold it open for a small family as they came out, the mother with a loaf of bread in hand and the child with a half-eaten cookie.

Dean ushered Emmanuel in before him and followed closely behind. The air in the bakery was warm and aromatic. The smells of yeast and sugar hung thick in the air and Dean looked around, a little bit impressed. One side wall was almost entirely obscured by a set of wooden racks, now only sparsely populated with various loaves of bread. 

There was a long stone counter up at the front, most of it covered in trays of sweets; cookies, muffins, and circular bits of fried dough that were covered in something white. 

As Dean watched, the only other customer in the store indicated the latter and the proprietress, a blonde woman who clearly loved what she did, scooped six of them into a box.

Dean saw one last tray on the counter as the man left with his purchase, and saw what almost looked like pie if pie had been shrunk down to handheld size. His mouth watered.

It was then that the proprietress noticed them.

"Well, hello new faces!" she said, giving a little wave. "I'm Donna, nice to meetcha!"

"Hello, Donna," Dean said, fixing her with a dazzling smile. Never hurt to charm the bakers. "I'm Dean, and this is Emmanuel."

Emmanuel nodded politely in greeting. Donna beamed.

"I take it you boys are in town for the market festival?" she asked, wiping her hands on her apron and leaving streaks of white.

"Got it in one," Dean said. "But that's probably pretty common this time of year."

Donna nodded, sighing.

"It's wonderful, it really is, but it's always so  _ busy _ , especially for my Jody," she said, gently touching the side of her neck where Dean could just see a bond bite peeking over the collar of her dress. "She's the constable here, and with the market always comes a lot of extra work."

"Looks like you're kept pretty busy yourself," Dean said, looking around. He didn't see any other workers, so it wouldn't have surprised him to learn that Donna ran the bakery on her own.

"Well, I do enjoy it!" Donna said. She clapped her hands together. "But enough of my chattering, what can I get for you gentlemen today?"

Dean eyed the trays of sweets on the stone counter, gaze lingering on the miniature pies on the tray nearest Donna's elbow. He pointed to it.

"Don't suppose that's fruit pie?" he asked hopefully.

"It's apple," Donna said, looking rather pleased with herself. "Best in the city."

"Well then, I've got to try it," Dean said. Em had wandered over at this point and was looking with curiosity at the pie. With a sideways glance at him, Dean continued. "Two of those, please."

Em looked at him, surprised, as Donna busied herself with wrapping the pies, one at a time, in thick butcher paper.

"I can-" Em said, making as if to grab his purse. Dean waved him off.

"Don't worry about it," he said. He smiled at Donna, accepting the pies as she handed them over. "What do I owe you?"

"Six copper," she said. Dean reached into the bag at his waist and pulled out a silver piece.

"Keep the change," Dean said, giving her a wink. Donna grinned and tucked the coin away out of sight.

"Well, thank you very much! You two come back and see me again before the festival ends, all right?"

"Definitely," Dean said. He handed one of the pies off to Emmanuel, who took it gingerly, and they left the bakery.

Once back on the street, Dean unwrapped one corner of the paper and blew gently on the pie to cool it. It was still warm to the touch, probably not long from the oven.

"You ever have apple pie before?" Dean asked, watching with amusement as Emmanuel inspected his pie, turning it this way and that and sniffing.

"It smells sweet," Em said, sounding surprised.

"They not have fruit pies where you're from?" Dean asked. Em shook his head.

"My mother was more fond of mince. Kidney pie, chicken, lamb... fruit was only ever an accent," Emmanuel said. He copied Dean and blows on his own pie, though he still seemed uncertain about the pastry he's holding. "I never liked them much."

"Well, let's see if I can't change your mind," Dean said. He held up his pie as if to make a toast. Em rolled his eyes indulgently, but lifted his pie just the same, a small smile on his face.

"Go on, try it," Dean said. He ignored his own pie for the moment, far more interested in Em's reaction than in tasting it for himself. Em lifted the pastry slowly to his mouth. His gaze darted to Dean and then away again as if he was embarrassed about being watched.

He took a tiny bite of the lip of the crust and chewed thoughtfully.

"Come on, you have to at least get some of the middle. You can't tell anything about a pie without tasting the filling," Dean said. Em scowled at him and then deliberately took a huge bite of the pie, chewing like he had something to prove.

Dean could tell the moment the flavors exploded across Emmanuel's tongue. His eyes went wide and he stopped chewing. He stared at the pie as though it was a revelation or some holy relic, his cheeks still distended from the as-yet-unswallowed mouthful.

It was entirely too comical and too endearing. Dean threw his head back and laughed, triumphant.

"Good, isn't it?" he asked knowingly. Then he took a bite of his own pie and stopped walking, stunned. "Oh damn, that  _ is _ good."

"Didn't you expect it to be?" Em asked. He took another, more judicious bite of the pie, savoring it the way such a marvel deserved.

"Not  _ this _ good," Dean said. "Like yeah, pie is great, but this isn't just great it's..." Dean gestured with the hand not holding the pie, unable to put it into words.

"Ineffable?" Em asked, grinning. Dean shrugged and took another bite.

"Yeah, whatever that means," he said through a mouthful of crust and filling. "The bakers at the castle don't even  _ compare _ . I got to get her recipe or bring her back with me."

Em frowned quizzically.

"The bakers at the castle?" he repeated. "And you would know that how?"

Dean mentally froze.

Of all the  _ stupid _ -

"Uh..." he said. He swallowed the bite. "I... guess? I mean, pie like this, there'd be shrines and temples dedicated to it if the royals had anything like it. A whole new religion all about pie."

He nodded seriously, his heart pounding wildly.

He was really getting to like Emmanuel and the casual way they interacted. He didn't want to be 'the Crown Prince', he just wanted to be  _ Dean _ and have that be enough for someone. Their easy camaraderie would go to shit if Em figured it out.

To Dean's great relief, Em just laughed and shook his head.

"I might see your point," Em admitted, shooting Dean a gummy grin, his nose wrinkled with mirth.

Dean's stomach gave an unfamiliar swoop. His heart fluttered.

Oh,  _ fuck _ .

* * *

Castiel rubbed a hand over his right temple as he and Dean approached the door to the Dove & Dragonfly. He'd had a slowly building headache for most of the day, one that had crept up on him so subtly he couldn't even pinpoint when it had started. The noise of the tavern was not helping, and the strong smell of peppermint in his nose was exacerbating the pounding in his head.

Castiel hadn't realized wearing something that smelled so strongly continuously for so long could actually cause pain. He might have tried harder to get his own room apart from Dean if he had.

The tavern attached to the inn was crowded, but not overly so. Chuck was sitting at a table when Cas and Dean had entered, Charlie seated to his right and a woman to  _ her _ right that Cas assumed must be Gilda. Her hair fell in dark curls past her shoulders, partially pulled back from her face in an elegant knot. Her dress appeared to be simple homespun linen, off-white in color, and as Cas and Dean navigated closer Castiel could see the delicate, intricate beadwork along the neckline as fine as anything he'd ever seen at court.

Seamstress indeed, and a skilled one at that.

Charlie noticed them first and waved excitedly.

"Glad you made it," Chuck said as they sat down. There were already tankards of ale at each seat, two of them untouched and waiting. "The food should be out soon. It's roast chicken tonight, but if you want something else-"

"No, that sounds perfect," Dean said. He turned his attention and his smile to the woman next to Charlie. "You must be Gilda. Charlie here told us a lot about you on the trip up."

Gilda laughed.

"Yes, I am," she said. She tossed some of her hair behind her head, sending a sweet floral scent sweeping across the table. "And you must be Dean and Emmanuel. Dare I hope it was mostly good things?"

"The way Charlie tells it, you personally hung the moon in the sky," Dean said conspiratorially. Gilda laughed again and Charlie ducked her head, face as red as her hair.

"You guys!" she said. Even Chuck seemed to be amused by the petulance in her tone as the table broke into another round of laughter.

Just then, Castiel's eyes caught sight of a brooch Gilda wore up by her collarbone. He studied it for a moment, curious.

The brooch was a delicately styled silver butterfly, the wings made of elegant loops and swirls, and there, across the outstretched wings, the symbol for 'omega' picked out in copper. He'd seen a few such brooches that day as he and Dean had wandered the marketplace, though some had the symbol for 'alpha' on them instead. He'd never seen anything like it and wondered if it was some kind of Rhoads tradition.

Gilda noticed him staring and looked down as if only just noticing the brooch.

"Oh," she said.

"It's a lovely piece," Cas said hurriedly. "It’s just that I've seen a few of those today and I was wondering..."

"If it meant anything," Gilda finished for him. Cas nodded slowly.

Gilda nodded, touching the brooch with one hand and smiling gently. Charlie took her lover's other hand and squeezed in silent support.

"I was not born an omega," Gilda said simply. "When I was thirteen, I presented as an alpha. My parents rejoiced, but as for me..." Gilda's smile twisted into something a little more sardonic. "I'd grown up knowing I was an omega. Presenting as an alpha felt wrong, but I did try to live that way for a while to make my family happy. After a while I couldn't do it anymore and ran away to Rhoads. I've been here ever since."

Gilda looked at Charlie and smiled shyly, squeezing her hand.

"And this is where I met Charlie."

Charlie gave her a besotted look and leaned in to kiss her briefly on the mouth. Gilda returned the affection just as chastely before both women turned back to Dean and Cas.

Cas was silent, lost for words, but Dean had no such hangups.

"Good for you," he said, sounding painfully sincere. He lifted his tankard of ale. "To omegas!"

Everyone laughed, breaking the thread of tension that had settled over them at Cas's question, and lifted their own tankards, echoing Dean.

"To omegas!"

After Cas had taken a swig of his ale and set the tankard back down, he caught Gilda's eye again. She looked at him, curious and questioning, and he smiled at her.

"Congratulations," he said. He nodded towards Charlie. "To both of you."

Gilda nodded, eyes damp with relief and gratitude.

"Thank you," she said.

* * *

Dinner came and went and conversation around the table flowed easily after the initial stumbling block. Dean found that he was rather enjoying himself, though he noticed Emmanuel rubbing at his head as the night drew on and the tavern got louder and rowdier.

After the third time he'd seen Em do it within the space of ten minutes, he leaned in.

"Headache?" he asked. Em nodded and an instant look of regret washed over his face. Dean would've laughed if Emmanuel hadn't looked so miserable.

"It's probably from that peppermint stuff you wear all the time," he said. He'd noticed Em's tendency to slather a peppermint salve all over his neck at all hours of the day, but hadn't said anything, not wanting to embarrass the guy for having sensitive skin.

Em's face reddened and he looked away.

"I get sore easily," he muttered. Dean nodded and took another sip from his tankard; his third of the night.

"At least we've got beds and pillows tonight," he offered. "Little bit more comfortable than the ground, if you want to head up, sleep it off..."

Dean began reaching for the room key but Emmanuel waved his hand dismissively.

"I'm fine, it's not a big deal," he said. 

"Don't let us keep you," Gilda said, concerned. Charlie nodded, a little bit more enthusiastically than was probably warranted, but Dean attributed that to the many, many pints she'd had that night.

"Yeah, if you're not feeling well," Charlie said, waving sloppily towards the stairs that led to the rooms.

Emmanuel was about to reply when the barmaid who had been serving them swung by their table again. Dean didn't think he'd ever had such attentive service unless he was out in full princely get-up, crown and all. 

"How are we doing?" the barmaid asked, smiling. She'd introduced herself as Lisa a few drinks back, if Dean remembered correctly, just after Chuck had gone upstairs to bed, citing an early morning the next day and a need to work on his novel. "Another drink?"

"Yes!" Charlie said, lifting her tankard, only for Gilda to gently but firmly push her girlfriend's arm down.

"I think we've had enough," Gilda said over Charlie's protests. Emmanuel shook his head carefully, probably to avoid aggravating his headache, and Lisa turned to Dean.

"And, anything else I can get for  _ you _ ?" Lisa asked, looking him up and down appreciatively. Dean grinned back with his usual ladykiller smile, but his heart wasn't in it.

Lisa was attractive, no doubt about that. An omega by the smell of her, dark hair, dark eyes, gorgeous curves, and legs that went on for miles. Exactly Dean's type, in other words. Exactly the sort of partner he'd had in mind when he set off on this 'hunting trip'; someone beautiful, bendy, and who wasn't looking for anything long-term.

In fact, he'd been looking for  _ several _ someones like that. This trip was essentially his bachelor party, his last hurrah. He should be having all the sex he could in the most creative ways he could think of.

And yet.

"I'm fine, thanks," Dean said, though he returned the slow once-over out of habit. Lisa nodded gracefully and headed back to the kitchens. Dean watched her go, wistful but not really regretting his gentle refusal.

He'd had to go and get himself hung up on six feet of blue eyes and muscle. Just his luck.

"On second thought," Em said as Lisa disappeared into the kitchens. "I think I will head up."

Dean wasn't sure what had prompted the sudden change of heart, but he handed over the room key with a quiet 'goodnight' and a promise to be up within the hour. Charlie and Gilda both bid him goodnight.

"Feel better!" Charlie called after him as he headed for the stairs. Dean watched him go and then turned back to his mostly empty tankard.

The conversation hit a lull and Dean cast his mind around for something to say, only for Charlie to clear her throat and take a deep breath, seeming quite a bit more sober than she had a minute go.

"So... Emmanuel seems nice," she said, voice so carefully casual it made the hairs on the back of Dean's neck stand up. "And dreamy."

"Thought you weren't into alphas," Dean said, studying his mug. Charlie laughed.

"I'm not," she said brightly. "But you are."

Dean looked at her, face hot with embarrassment even as a denial sprang to the tip of his tongue. Charlie raised an eyebrow at him, a knowing smile on her face, and Dean felt the words die on his lips. Gilda just watched, amusement playing in her eyes.

"He's not into other alphas," Dean muttered. Charlie gave a thoughtful hum.

"I don't know about that," Charlie said. She delicately sipped at her mead. "Especially not with the way he looks at you."

"He doesn't look at me," Dean said immediately, even as his heart tripped in his chest. He cleared his throat. "I'd notice."

"Well..." Gilda said, clearly disbelieving. Charlie burst into laughter.

Dean scowled at the pair of them but without any real heat. It was hard to be angry when his heart was beating so quickly in his throat, hope bubbling up in his chest.

"Trust us, he looks at you," Charlie said. "And I mean  _ looks _ , like looks at you the way you look at him."

Dean ducked his head and rubbed at the back of his neck.

"Have I been that obvious?" he asked, a little mortified.

"Well, he hasn't noticed yet," Gilda said, apparently trying to be helpful. It only made it worse.

Dean buried his face in his hands, groaning.

"And if Em hasn't noticed yet, he won't, so..." Charlie said, leaning forward eagerly. "What are you going to do?"

Dean looked at her like she'd grown a second head.

"'Do'?" he repeated. "What do you mean, 'what am I going to do'? Nothing, that's what."

Because his memories of the week had been good, if not what he'd pictured. Because he'd actually somehow caught feelings for Emmanuel somewhere along the road, and that would make any sex they had messy and complicated, especially with Dean's impending marriage looming ever larger on the horizon.

Because part of him was kind of terrified to try now that Em  _ meant _ something. Rejection and disgust were a bit easier to stomach from some hot stranger at a bar, but Dean couldn't stand the idea of Emmanuel looking at him with revulsion. He'd rather keep the image of Em's wonderous expression as they explored Rhoads together the freshest in his mind without anything to sour the memories down the road.

Charlie goggled at him. Even Gilda seemed surprised, and Dean had been under the impression that she was fairly unflappable in most circumstances.

"Why not?" Charlie asked. Dean spluttered.

"Because!" he said. "Of reasons! Very, very good reasons."

Just... none of which he was willing or able to admit. Charlie looked at him sympathetically, almost sadly, and Gilda reached up and gently cupped her hand.

"You should," Charlie said. "Even if he says no, even if he's not into you the same way - which, trust me, he is - you have to try. The worst regrets are 'what might have beens', especially when you look back and realize your reasoning was stupid. I'm just lucky someone else here was braver than I was."

Gilda squeezed Charlie's hand and Charlie turned her arm over so they were palm to palm. Charlie smiled and leaned against Gilda's shoulder, turning her head briefly to kiss her girlfriend's neck.

"We should go home, I think. It's late," Gilda said. She shot Dean a quick smile. "It was lovely to meet you."

"You, too," Dean said, a bit lost. Charlie and Gilda stood, Gilda supporting her slightly drunk girlfriend as they walked out of the tavern. Dean stared at the door as it swung shut behind them, thoughts warring in his head.

Did he dare?

Should he dare?

He rubbed a hand over his face and sighed. This was too much for his current level of sobriety.

"I need another drink."

* * *

The room Dean had rented for them was small, but it did indeed have two beds. It also, Cas was pleased to note, had a basin and a pitcher set up in front of a mirror of polished silver. He shut the door behind himself but didn't bother to lock it, since Dean had given him what was likely their only key. He didn't want Dean to have to track down the innkeeper this late for the master key.

He set his pack on the bed closest to the outside wall and the room's single window, then stripped off his tunic and threw it over the top of his bag. He moved over to the wash basin and poured some of the water into it, dipping the provided rag in to see if Dean had a point about the smell of peppermint.

The water was cool but not cold and he almost groaned in relief as he wiped down his neck. It took a few swipes, but by the time he'd gotten all of the salve off he noticed a huge difference. The headache still lingered, but at least it wasn't getting any worse.

He figured Dean would probably stay in the tavern for a bit and decided to take full advantage. While travelling on his own, he'd only applied the salve when he saw other people, and at times other travellers were few and far between indeed. Since he'd met Dean, though, he hadn't had a moment to himself, save for using the privy, and he much preferred the scent of peppermint to anything else one might smell in a privy.

He could afford to wait a little before he had to reapply it.

He gave himself a quick scrubdown with the rag, wrinkling his nose as the water grew cloudy. He'd never truly appreciated being clean before; it was just part and parcel of being a prince, not to mention an omega. He could bathe daily if he so wished, with the finest soaps and perfumes.

This may very well have been the longest he'd ever gone without, and he made a mental note to order a proper bath in the morning.

Clean enough for the moment, he dumped the wastewater out the window and set it back on the stand to dry, the rag draped over the edge. He placed the room key next to it, figuring Dean would want it back when he returned. Then he collapsed into the bed alongside his pack, stretching his limbs and luxuriating in the feel of something other than hard ground beneath him. In Elbann, he'd been too exhausted to properly appreciate the bed, asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow, but he knew it hadn't been as nice as this. The mattress was simple, stuffed with straw and rather thin, and the bedclothes were rough homespun linen, but to Castiel it felt almost as comfortable as the feather bed and fine cotton sheets of home.

He closed his eyes for a moment. It had been a long day and he was exhausted; surely just a few minutes of rest wouldn't hurt?

All too soon, he'd have to get up and reapply the peppermint and hope it didn't bring the headache back, but for the moment he could afford to lay down, to rest his feet and his eyes, and just relax.

Just for the moment...

* * *

Dean finally staggered up from the tavern about an hour later, mindful that he'd told Em he would be up 'within the hour' and even though he was nowhere near ready to see the other man, he couldn't put it off indefinitely.

Charlie's words still rang in his head, but he was both entirely too drunk to think coherent thoughts on the matter and entirely too sober to want to think about it.

He'd caught feelings before, a few times, but it had never made things so damn complicated. Then again, he'd never been about to marry somebody  _ else _ before, either.

He finally washed up against the door to the room he'd rented earlier. He knocked quietly, half-hoping Emmanuel was already asleep and half-hoping he was awake.

Lords, he was a mess.

"Em?" he called when nobody answered. He hoped he wouldn't need to wake the innkeeper up to let him in or possibly sleep in the tavern.

He tried the door handle and, to his surprise, the door creaked open. He poked his head into the room, just in case he'd misremembered the number, but then he noticed the sleeping figure in one of the beds, bathed in moonlight from the open window.

It was Em.

Dean snuck into the room like a thief, silent and nervous and suddenly feeling like he wasn't meant to be here. He closed the door behind himself as quietly as he could, not wanting to wake the other man. He locked it for security, torn between relief and annoyance that Em had left it unlocked. Sure, it had benefited Dean, but what if he hadn't been the first to try the door? Em could've ended up hurt or had his things stolen. 

Dean had little of value in the room, and nothing he could not replace once he returned home, but as far as Dean knew, Em's entire life was now in the rucksack Em had clutched tightly to his chest.

Dean sighed, allowing himself just a moment of indulgence, his eyes trailing over the line of Em's shoulder, the expanse of smooth skin normally hidden by the man's tunic. His eyes lingered on Em's sleeping face, how peaceful he looked.

And for a moment, Dean  _ wanted _ . His wishes weren't even carnal, but he wanted.

Wanted permission to crawl into bed beside Em and soothe any stirring with gentle whispers and gentler kisses. Wanted this sight to be one he could indulge in whenever he liked, and not just a stolen moment. Wanted to gather Emmanuel up in his arms and hold him close, keep him warm, and have Em stay just as peaceful, just as relaxed, knowing Dean was watching his back.

Dean mentally smacked himself, mentally berating himself for getting so carried away. Emmanuel was a friend and Dean could be content with that, he really could.

If only Charlie's words about missed opportunities and regrets would stop echoing in his head.

Dean sighed and turned away.

This was not the time. He was drunk.

A noise from the other side of the room drew his attention. He looked in time to see Em shiver, curling closer around his bag as if to warm himself, and it was then Dean realized just how cold the room was. The night air was chilly without a fire for warmth, and the open window meant it all blew right in.

Dean couldn't in good conscience leave Emmanuel to freeze, though he did wonder what had possessed the other alpha to sleep half naked with the window open on a night like this.

Dean eyed the blanket underneath Em's sleeping form and decided against it. Too much risk of waking Em up, and as Dean had yet to even lay in his bed, the blankets should be clean enough. He tugged the blanket from the top of his bed and walked over to Em's side of the room.

Sober Dean might have just called out to wake Em up and tell him to get under his blanket before he caught his death of cold, but drunk Dean was both much less inhibited and much more impulsive.

He began carefully laying the blanket over Em, starting at his feet and lowering the cloth inch by inch until the blanket ran out at Em's shoulders. He prayed silently that Em wouldn't wake, watching his face closely for any sign of wakefulness. The last thing he wanted was to be caught standing over Em like a creep while he slept.

It was then that Dean finally noticed.

The air didn't smell of peppermint. This close to Em, it should've been blocking out all else, but Dean couldn't smell even the faintest hint of it.

Drunk Dean struck again. Before Dean even realized what he was doing, he drew in a lungful of air through his nose, desperate to know the scent Em had been hiding beneath mint for all the time Dean had known him.

Was his natural scent something most people found unpleasant? Was he truly just a frequent victim of a sore neck and sore muscles?

Dean had to know.

As he inhaled again, he focused on the scents he could pick out, feeling a need down to his bones to  _ know _ and to categorize.

Em's natural scent was something like an autumn forest after a thunderstorm; petrichor and decaying leaves and a hint of campfire smoke. Something that said home, that promised peace and comfort, that made Dean want to bury his face in Em's neck and never resurface.

There was no trace of mint of any sort in his scent, which struck Dean as strange since he had for so long associated Emmanuel with mint it was hard to divorce the two.

And, Dean realized slowly, there was no trace of the musk associated with alpha scents.

He leaned closer, careful not to touch the sleeping man. He wasn't near close enough to properly scent Emmanuel, he wouldn't dare take that liberty, but he had to know. Was Emmanuel perhaps a beta? They were somewhat rare, but it was possible.

Now that Dean thought about it, Emmanuel had never claimed to be an alpha, Dean had just assumed.

He let Em's scent flood his lungs once more, feeling drunk all over again on the smell.

There was a subtle, underlying thread of sweetness. Something enticing and delicious.

Something that very clearly said omega.

Dean straightened abruptly, the shock enough to send cold sobriety washing over him. He stumbled towards the open window and shoved his head out, letting the stench of the town drive Emmanuel's scent from his lungs.

Nothing could wipe it from his mind, though.

He rested his elbows on the windowsill, letting his head hang.

An omega. Emmanuel was an omega.

Dean had half a mind to take his bag, saddle Chevy and get the hell out of there before Em woke up. Bad enough when Dean hadn't known what he really smelled like; now, he didn't think he could ever forget. Even now, he could almost smell him, the scent teasing him, tickling his nose.

Memories kept playing back in Dean's mind. Em, swooping in to save him from bandits like a knight in a fairytale. Em from that afternoon, smiling wide and gummy, his nose crinkled. Em, learning to light a fire. Em behind him on Chevy, arms wrapped tight around Dean's waist, trusting Dean to take him where he wanted to go.

Em, Em,  _ Em _ .

Emmanuel was all fire, strength, and steel; a wicked, dry sense of humor and an enduring, endearing wonder at the world.

And Dean?

Dean was totally, utterly, and completely fucked.


	6. For the First Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit for the amazing art goes to sirlsplayland, who you can find here on tumblr: www.srlsplayland.tumblr.com

Castiel woke slowly, drifting into wakefulness like a cloud on a still summer day.

He blinked. Sunlight streamed in through the open window and he groaned, hiding his face in his oddly lumpy and pointy pillow. He just wanted five more minutes, then perhaps-

His eyes shot open. He sat up, blanket pooling in his lap. He looked at the window in horror, through which he could see that the sun was well and truly up. The sounds of the townsfolk going about their morning business drifted up to him from the street.

He hadn't meant to fall asleep.

He'd only just begun to work himself into a proper panic when he heard the door open. He turned to face it quick as a flash, a mixture of shock, relief, and dismay hitting him all at once when he saw it was Dean coming through the door.

On the one hand, maybe Dean hadn't come back last night and Castiel's designation was still a secret, and would remain so if he could just get the salve before Dean noticed his scent.

On the other hand, maybe Dean _ hadn't come back last night _. Cas had noticed the way their waitress had been eyeing him.

Dean paused in the doorway, apparently having noticed Cas was awake. Dean smiled and shut the door.

"Good morning," he said. It was then that Cas noticed Dean carrying a plate piled high with toast and eggs, still steaming.

Well, that explained where he'd been, though it didn't answer the question of whether or not he'd returned the night before.

"Good morning," Cas replied. His fingers worried at the blanket, something niggling at the back of his mind.

He stopped. He looked down, smoothing his hands over the blanket that had covered him during the night.

He had no memory of pulling the blanket over him and, when he shifted and looked down at his bed, he could see that he'd fallen asleep atop his own. The blanket covering him had to be Dean's, and since Castiel highly doubted he'd somehow sleepwalked over to Dean's bed to steal the blanket, Dean must have been the one who covered him with it.

Cas felt a chill run through him, turning his blood to ice.

Had Dean somehow not noticed? Not realized?

"I brought breakfast," Dean said, indicating the plate. He sat down on his own bed, facing Cas. "Didn't know when you'd wake up, so I only got one plate, but we can go down and get more."

Castiel studied him closely, looking for any sign that Dean knew, but saw nothing. There was no condescension, nor any sign that Dean was offended that Castiel had dared meet his gaze directly.

"The market's already in full swing, if you want to walk through there again today," Dean said, scooping up some of the eggs with a slice of the toast. If he found Castiel's silent staring odd, he didn't seem at all perturbed by it. He took a big bite of his breakfast and chewed, still looking at Cas the same way he had yesterday.

It occured to Cas that Dean was waiting for a response. Dean hadn't given him an order or lain out an itinerary; he'd as good as asked Cas what he wanted to do.

As if his opinion mattered. As if he might know his own mind and his own desires.

Castiel breathed, relaxing. Dean must not have found him out.

All Cas had to do was get the ointment on before that changed.

"The market sounds good," Cas said, trying to subtly shuffle back on the bed. He blindly reached down for the bag he always kept at his waist and realized his belt must have shifted in the night. The bag had somehow ended up at his back.

He had just managed to shift it around back to his hip when Dean noticed. He put the egg-laden bread down and looked at Cas's hand, halfway into the pouch.

"Sore muscles again?" Dean asked softly. Castiel nodded, feeling on edge though he couldn't pinpoint exactly why.

"I- yes," he said. Dean looked at his plate, obviously thinking hard about something. Cas didn't dare move, feeling the tension drawn taut, like a bowstring seconds before release.

Dean cleared his throat.

"You don't have to," he blurted suddenly. "I mean, if you're sore, you're sore, go ahead, but if you're not-"

Castiel was almost certain his heart had stopped, except he could hear it pounding in his ears. He felt suddenly dizzy, numb fingers releasing the jar of peppermint.

"What," he breathed, word hardly more than a puff of air, but Dean was still babbling and didn't seem to hear him.

"I mean if it makes you more comfortable, go for it, but maybe we could find something else? Peppermint is just so harsh, and it gave you that headache, and if we're looking for alpha scents this has got to be the place to be. I mean, with Gilda and the-" Dean waved vaguely at his chest as if to indicate a brooch.

"What are you talking about," Cas said, though he felt it in his bones, and from the look on Dean's face, he knew it too.

"Last night," Dean said, running a hand over his hair and down the back of his head to rest on the nape of his neck. "When I came into the room, well..."

Dean didn't need to finish his sentence. Castiel could read it on his face. He was lost for words, the fiction he'd been carefully maintaining in shambles at his feet.

"Nothing has to change," Dean said quickly. "If you consider yourself- shit, I mean, if you _ are _ an alpha-"

"And if I'm not?" Cas asked, the words springing to his lips unbidden. The ice in his blood was thawing, heating up, tongues of flame licking at his guts.

Dean met his gaze squarely.

"Nothing has to change," Dean said. Castiel could tell he truly believed it, the conviction in his voice ringing solid and true.

But Castiel had heard that before.

_ '"Nothing has to change, Cassie."' _

And then Balthazar had shifted from treating Castiel like a fellow warrior on the battlefield to something fragile and easily damaged. Something that needed protecting, as it was incapable of protecting itself.

And Castiel was, quite abruptly, absolutely furious.

* * *

Dean had no idea what he'd said that set Emmanuel off, but he knew he'd said _ something _.

"'Nothing has to change'?" Em snarled, surging to his feet. Dean scrambled to get to his feet as well, knocking the plate with his breakfast to the floor. He held his hands up placatingly, but Em was having none of it. He seized the front of Dean's tunic and twisted, slamming him up against the wall and then pressing him against it, keeping him expertly pinned with the full weight of his body.

"Em-" Dean said, not sure where to go from there, but Em didn't even seem to notice.

"You say that now, but things always change," Emmanuel said. "Because I'm an _ omega _."

He spat the word as though it had a foul taste and Dean flinched. His heart hurt and he wished he'd just left well enough alone, kept on feigning ignorance. He laid his hands gently on Emmanuel's wrists, not gripping or pushing since he didn't want Em to take it as an attack.

"Em, there's nothing wrong with being an omega," he said, trying to sound reassuring. "You don't need to be ashamed-"

It had been the wrong thing to say. Em's eyes flashed, incandescent with rage.

"I'm. Not. Ashamed." Em bit out, each word like a warning rumble of thunder. "I'm angry."

Dean hardly dared breathe. The air around him was thick with the scent of furious omega and it was somehow more terrifying than any angry alpha scent Dean had ever smelled. Emmanuel's scent was normally that of an autumn forest after the rain; now Emmanuel was the oncoming storm, the kind that shook the walls and flooded the streets, that ripped off roof tiles and uprooted trees.

"I'm angry that the second I presented, all my decisions were made for me. I'm angry that once it was obvious I could _ breed _-" He snarled the word as though it were poison. "-that's the only thing that anyone cared about."

Dean couldn't speak. He could only listen in stunned silence.

"I'm angry that I was suddenly too 'delicate' for things I'd done the week before. I'm angry that any time I dared be upset, it would be dismissed as hysteria because of my designation. I'm angry that I went from being treated like a person to being treated like an object-"

Em cut himself off. He abruptly dropped his hands and took a step back from Dean, breathing heavily.

Dean wondered how long Emmanuel had been holding that anger in. Years, if he had to guess; years of anger and frustration and isolation, with nobody willing to listen or to understand. Or at the very least, nobody willing and able to help.

Not for the first time, Dean wondered about Emmanuel's past. From the sound of it, his folks had either been extremely traditional, nobility, or worse: both.

If he ever met Em's family, he was going to have _ words _ with them.

"I am nobody's property," Em said, his voice so low and so wretched Dean had to struggle to hear him. When he finally parsed Em's meaning, he went still.

"Does that still... I thought Elysium made that illegal," Dean said hoarsely. Emmanuel smiled bitterly.

"On paper, at least," he said. "In practice..."

He let the sentence trail off. He didn't need to finish.

Forget having words with Em's family. Dean would have _ wars _.

"I'm sorry," Dean said, choked. Emmanuel looked at him, weariness in every line of his face.

"It wasn't so long ago that omegas were considered chattel," he said. "Some people would prefer we still were."

Silence fell between them, heavy and suffocating. Dean cast his mind around for something to say, heart aching at the pain in Emmanuel's voice.

"I'm sorry," he said again. Emmanuel shrugged with poorly-feigned indifference.

"It is what it is," he said lowly. Dean was already shaking his head.

"Doesn't make it ok," he said. When he was king...

Dean let out a long, slow breath.

When Dean was king, things would change, he silently promised himself. Elysium might be more traditional than Kanaan, which prided itself on being progressive, but Dean wouldn't have been surprised to learn that some places were still as backwards and controlling as Em's family. As king of one small country, perhaps Dean couldn't save everyone, but he could at least make Kanaan a better place for those omega citizens under his care.

He had to.

"I don't-" he started, then stopped, mouth dry. "I'm not going to pretend to understand perfectly, because I don't, but I know a bit about other people making decisions for you. I know a little about people expecting you to behave a certain way because of your secondary gender, or expecting things from you because of it, and when you don't meet those expectations, well-" Dean breathed out and shook his head.

He was conscious of Emmanuel's eyes on him. Not judging, not angry, just intense.

"I'm not the alpha my dad wanted me to be," Dean said bitterly, voice low. "My mom either, but Dad was always more obvious about it than she was."

The fury in his dad's eyes the first time Dean had been caught in bed with another male alpha; a handsome squire one year older than Dean, who had been disgraced and sent back home for an imagined infraction shortly after. The way his mother's lips had thinned and she'd bowed her head in quiet agreement when John had ripped into Dean for it. The disappointment on her face when, after repeated confessions at the church, Dean showed no signs of repenting his indiscretion.

Sam and Benny had been the only two people who hadn't cared what sex or designation his lovers were. From the sound of it, Em hadn't had even that much support.

"There were days I'd wake up wondering if I was going to be disowned for... well, for," Dean said, gesturing to his whole body with a sharp, jerky wave of his hand. "Not like I don't have a little brother that could inherit. But at least then I'd be free."

He swallowed, suddenly short of breath. He'd never dared say any of that out loud unless in jest, unless he knew those listening wouldn't take him seriously. It was easier to make his father's disapproval a joke than to deal with it head on, to bury the hurt beneath a carefree smile and a laugh.

"I'm sorry," Em said. He sounded like he meant it, so Dean gave him a weak smile instead of waving a hand dismissively.

"Me, too," he said. He fell silent, not sure what to say. Em looked towards the window, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

"And you truly believe that me being an omega changes nothing?" Emmanuel asked, voice carefully neutral. He was still breathing heavily, but that was the only sign of the emotional outburst just moments before.

"It won't," Dean promised, trying to inject as much sincerity in his voice as humanly possible. He swallowed heavily and continued. "You're still the guy who saved my life. Hell, you're braver than half the alphas I know, striking out on your own the way you did."

Em was staring at him again. Dean felt struck by those too-blue eyes and his words twisted into a tangled knot on his tongue.

How was he supposed to put into words how brave, how beautiful, how _ strong _ Emmanuel was? Em was sharp, resourceful, unflinching and unbreaking, and Dean was at once envious and in awe. He was half in love with him and he'd only known the man a week.

How anyone could look at him and see only a delicate ornament or a trophy was beyond Dean, but the way to put that sentiment into words was also out of reach. Words hardly did Emmanuel justice and they had never been Dean's forte to begin with.

He did the next best thing.

"You're Emmanuel," he said, voice thick with everything he couldn't express.

Em's expression flickered at that, too quick for Dean to catch every emotion, but then he smiled wryly.

"I believe you," Em said. He then seemed to notice how close they were still standing, how his hands still loosely gripped the fabric of Dean's tunic, and exactly how shirtless he was. He coughed and stepped back, almost stepping in the eggs that had scattered across the floor when Dean dropped his plate.

"I'm sorry about your breakfast," Em said, turning away and giving Dean quite a view of his muscular back. Dean watched, transfixed. "I'll pay for its replacement."

He'd been trying very, very hard not to notice Em's naked chest, or their proximity, and while he'd done an excellent job when Emmanuel had been pissed, now all Dean could seem to focus on was the expanse of tanned skin and remember just how good Em had felt pressed up against him.

"You mentioned the market?" Em asked, grabbing his bag and dragging it down his bed, stepping carefully around the mess on the floor. He dug through and came out with a clean, dark green tunic and quickly shrugged it on. "That sounds good to me, if you didn't have any other plans or anywhere to be. Are we staying here another night?"

Dean spared only a moment for giddy excitement that Emmanuel had said 'we', that he planned on staying, before he mastered himself and nodded. Uselessly, really, since Em wasn't even looking at him.

"No, nowhere to be," Dean said. He really should have been heading home by now, especially since he'd never intended to go as far north as Rhoads and the return journey would definitely take him past the promised week of the hunting trip. He just wanted a little more time.

He'd apologize to Sammy when he got back.

* * *

It wasn't until later in the day, as they were passing a stall selling leather goods, that the full impact of that morning hit Castiel.

He'd defied an alpha.

He stopped suddenly, stunned. Dean took a few more steps and then, realizing Cas wasn't with him, stopped and turned, frowning.

"Em?" he said. Cas waved his concern off and took up walking again, too lost in thought to pay attention to any of the booths around them.

He'd defied an alpha. Openly. He hadn't pulled any punches, or danced around his feelings for the sake of decorum, or prettied up his words to make it more palatable for the alpha to swallow. He'd simply snapped, not thinking about the consequences.

And then, there hadn't been any.

Dean hadn't shut him up, or backhanded him the way Castiel had always been told to expect if he ever got mouthy with an alpha. His etiquette teachers had certainly never been shy about doing so when they felt he had overstepped his place.

He wondered how many of them were rolling over in their graves in horror at his audacity. He'd practically attacked Dean, and Dean had simply listened to him. He'd even sympathized.

Were all common alphas like this? Was it only the nobles who expected their omegas to be docile and obedient to their every whim?

But no, even as he thought that Cas knew it wasn't true. He'd only caught glimpses of reality for omegas outside the palace, but it was the little things that told him common alphas were not always so understanding as Dean. The existence of Charlie's knife, for one thing. The lack of omegas travelling on their own, especially at night. It made Cas grateful that he'd thought up his little trick with the peppermint.

How lucky Cas had been, that Dean was the first alpha he'd met after having gone on the run.

"Here."

Castiel's mind abruptly pulled back to the present. He blinked, looking down at a cup of translucent brown liquid Dean was handing to him. He took it and then looked around, surprised to notice they were towards the side of the walkway in a cluster of booths whose main attraction seemed to be various foodstuffs.

"What is it?" he asked, even as he lifted the cup to take a sip. Dean grinned, lifting his own cup.

"Apple cider. It's supposed to be good and you looked like you could use a drink," Dean said. He didn't say anything more, just took his place at Castiel's side and seemed content to watch the crowd mill about the booths.

Castiel drank, momentarily overcome by a wave of warmth that had little to do with the drink in his hands. It was good, certainly, spiced and with a pleasant burn all the way to the stomach, but Cas couldn't keep his eyes or his thoughts off of Dean.

It was the little things. A good drink when he was distracted, a listening ear when he was angry. A tinderbox and a quick lesson on how to use it. A few strips of jerky and a warm smile.

A thousand little kindnesses, given as easily as breathing.

Dean's eyes crinkled as he smiled and Castiel just watched, mesmerized by the play of sunlight against his profile. He could see Dean's freckles stand out starkly on his skin and he wanted to trace them with his fingertips, sketch constellations across Dean's face and seek out more, until he'd found enough places on Dean's body to draw an entire cosmos.

"Dean! Emmanuel!"

Both men turned to see Charlie, waving excitedly and working her way through the crowd towards them, Gilda in tow. 

"Hey, Charlie, Gilda," Dean said in greeting as the two ladies came close enough he didn't need to shout. "Good to see you two."

Cas nodded and smiled too, pleased to see them.

"You, too!" Charlie said brightly.

"Chuck not need your help today?" Dean asked, partly curious and partly teasing. Charlie shrugged and subtly leaned against Gilda.

"Gilda was given the day off to enjoy the market festival, so Chuck let me go so I could spend the day with her," Charlie said. Gilda gave her girlfriend such a soft, appreciative look that Cas felt warmed himself.

"That was kind of him," Cas said. 

"You seem better this morning. Did your headache clear up?" Gilda asked. Castiel nodded, a bit regretful.

"Apologies for leaving early last night, but I needed the rest, I think. I feel much better today," he said. He'd still put the peppermint salve on before they'd left, but the prospect of not needing it when in the room anymore was a cheering one.

"It's all right," Charlie said, a bit of a glint in her eye. "We had a great conversation anyway, didn't we, Dean?"

Dean inhaled a bit of his drink and started coughing, pounding on his chest to try and clear it. Cas turned to him, instinctively laying a hand on his shoulder.

"'M fine, wrong pipe," Dean said, his face bright red from the strain. He was staring directly at Charlie. "Hey, Charlie, follow me for a minute, there's this thing I want to show you."

"Oh?" Charlie asked, apparently not the least bit surprised as she released Gilda's hand. "And what, pray tell, is this 'thing'?"

"Really, really cool. Thing. Over here," Dean said, laying a hand on her shoulder and steering her away from the other two.

"Should we-" Cas started, but Dean shook his head.

"No, you, ah... not your kind of thing, Em, we'll be right back," Dean said over his shoulder, and they vanished into the crowd.

Castiel stared after them for a moment, then shook his head.

"I'm not even going to ask," he said. Gilda laughed and moved to stand next to him, looking out over the crowd.

"Best not," she agreed. "Are you enjoying the festival so far?"

Cas nodded.

"I've never seen anything like it," he said honestly. Gilda nodded, making a soft humming noise in the back of her throat.

"Every year, it seems to get bigger and brighter, with more interesting things," she said. They stood in companionable silence for a moment, just watching the humanity mill about them, when Gilda spoke again.

"I almost didn't tell Charlie how I felt about her," she said. Castiel glanced over, thrown by the sudden change in topic.

Gilda wasn't looking at him, though, but instead looking into the middle distance, lost in memory.

"I was worried she wouldn't accept me," Gilda said. "After all, I'm not what you'd really call a traditional omega. There are some who refuse to see me as an omega at all. Some of those have been people I cared deeply for and now no longer speak to. I worried that Charlie would be the same."

"She loves you very much," Cas said, unsure what to say. Gilda smiled at him.

"I know that now," she said. "But I didn't know it then, and telling her 'I love you' was one of the most frightening things I have ever done, but also the most rewarding. Our lives are both richer for it, and we would have both missed out if I hadn't taken that step."

Castiel began to feel cornered and oddly exposed, as though Gilda's gentle eyes could see right through him. He turned his gaze to the booths surrounding them, almost afraid to look directly at her.

"You're both very lucky," he said softly.

"Or very brave," Gilda countered. Cas didn't have an answer for that. He looked down at his mug of cider.

"Do you ever wonder..." he asked, wondering how to word the question. "What if things don't work out? If it doesn't last?"

"Oh, yes," Gilda said. She folded her arms across her chest, her smile carrying echoes of old pain. "Especially at first, I wondered about that a lot. But whether I had her for a day or for a decade, or if we end up taking that step and spending the rest of our lives together, I'd still be grateful for the time we've had."

Castiel was silent. Gilda, having made her point, didn't press him to talk as they waited for Dean and Charlie to return.

Finally, when they saw the other two making their way through the crowd in their direction, Castiel found his voice.

"Gilda," he whispered, staring at Dean. "Thank you."

"Good luck," she said.

* * *

Castiel walked into his room at the inn and shut the door, locking it behind himself.

He'd told Dean that he needed some time alone to bathe properly and Dean had raised no objections to staying in the tavern downstairs for a while so Castiel could wash in peace. While the bath part was true, Cas also wanted a minute alone to collect his thoughts.

Gilda's words from that afternoon had haunted him the rest of the day. He'd thought about it while he and Dean had wandered around the last unseen tents, the ones whose owners had been unlucky enough to arrive late and were only able to find space down narrow streets off the main square. He'd thought about it while he and Dean had eaten dinner; one that Castiel had insisted on paying for, given how their morning had started.

And now, staring at the full bathtub in the center of their room, he wondered if he was brave enough to go through with it.

He stripped himself slowly and climbed into the tub. The water was lukewarm, a few degrees above room temperature, and the tub was much, much smaller than the cast iron tubs of the palace, the ones large enough to stretch out in and took five men to lift and several cauldrons to fill. The tub the inn had provided was half a man's height and twice as wide, just big enough to sit comfortably in if you didn't mind your knees poking out above the surface of the water.

Even so, Castiel had never been as nervous or as excited to take a bath. And, regardless of any other plans he had for the night, he hadn't had a proper wash since he'd left the palace. Brief scrubdowns using a washbasin and rag hardly counted.

Speaking of, there was a rag thrown over the side of the tub, one end dipping down below the surface of the water. Castiel pulled it to fully submerge and found a small cake of soap hidden beneath. He grabbed it and lathered up, scrubbing first over his scent glands and removing all traces of the peppermint scent.

Did he dare? Was he brave enough to follow Gilda's example and tell Dean how he felt?

Was it love? If it wasn't, he wasn't sure what else to call it.

It wasn't exactly as described in the ridiculous romance novels his mother approved for him. It wasn't the sweaty palms, bashful glances, and dreamy sighs of the omegas in the books, but an ever-present warmth when Dean was by his side. A desire to see him smile, a fear of separation, a hope that they might travel together for some time yet. Everything seemed brighter and more interesting when he was with Dean; the flowers more colorful, the birdsong more sweet, the wine more intoxicating.

And, for the first time, when he thought about intimacy, he had more than just an intellectual interest in the subject.

What did Dean look like at the moment his pleasure hit its peak? What sort of noises would he make while Castiel brought him there? What sort of touches did Dean like best, and where?

Cas could only imagine Dean as a gentle, generous lover. Dean's kindness couldn't help but show through, especially, Cas was certain, in bed.

Castiel had been curious about sex before, but he'd never found anyone he had interest in slaking his curiosity with, even or especially with the suitors his mother kept pushing at him in hopes of getting him married off to an alpha who would keep him in line. His own hands had done well enough for him during his heats, and while the sensations were pleasant enough, it had never seemed worth it to him to risk getting bonded to someone who expected his submission as a matter of course, or to someone he didn't think he could grow to love, given time.

But with Dean... he _ wanted _.

The decision settled in his gut with a low-burning warmth before he'd even consciously made up his mind. He kept washing himself, perhaps being a little more fastidious than usual, anticipation sparking in his blood.

Whether he had Dean for one night or a thousand, he didn't think he would come to regret it. He hadn't been completely oblivious to the looks Dean had been giving him, though he'd chosen to ignore them at first. Being an omega prince made him a fine prize for any nobleman, knight, or visiting royalty, and Castiel had learned early on how to identify an alpha's lust when it was directed at him. Sometimes, that knowledge was his only weapon and only defense, since Naomi had repeatedly refused to let him carry a knife.

Some of those alphas, particularly the royal ones with great wealth or power, Naomi had practically thrown him at as though he were simply a piece of bait with which she hoped to catch a spectacular fish.

Some especially persistent alphas had been more interested in his crown than in Castiel himself and simply saw his body as an easy way in to the Elysian royal family.

But with Dean, there was none of that pretense.

Dean wanted him for nothing other than himself, exactly as he was, not for a title or wealth or land.

Castiel scrubbed his hair with the soap and then bent double to dunk his head under the water and rinse it all out. 

There was a lot that he couldn't be honest with Dean about; his name, his family, where he'd run from and why, but in all the ways that mattered, Castiel didn't think he'd ever been more honest with anyone.

'Castiel', omega prince, hadn't been the type of person who got a happy ending, the sort who could meet a handsome alpha and be swept off his feet into a life of happiness and romance and autonomy. Maybe 'Emmanuel', omega peasant, could be.

* * *

Dean followed Emmanuel up the stairs to their room, doing his absolute damnedest not to stare at the way Em's tunic clung to his damp skin, or the contrast of his wet hair against his neck, or the curve of his-

Well. He was trying.

While in the tavern, he'd also been doing his damn best not to think about Emmanuel naked and wet up in their room.

He hadn't been particularly successful at that, either.

He blamed Charlie.

'Trust me, he _ wants _ to be seduced', she'd said. 'Sweep him off his feet! Buy him a romantic dinner! Hell, just walk up and tell him 'nice boots, want to-''

Well. Dean wasn't about to go that route. It felt cheap compared to how he felt about Em, and though he was all for jokey one-liners and bad pickup lines when he was trying to impress a possible lay with his sense of humor, that really was not the foundation he was going for with Emmanuel.

And, shit. He was thinking about 'foundations' and romantic gestures and slow seductions and not even _ minding _ taking the scenic route to a destination he usually preferred to ride towards rapidly.

He was out of time, but he still wanted to take his time with Emmanuel, to savor every step of the process, and it struck him as remarkably unfair that he'd finally found something he wanted to keep so shortly before he would no longer be free to pursue it.

Em opened the door and beckoned Dean in after him. Dean followed, locking the door behind himself.

The bathtub was already gone from the room, which Dean noted with relief. He had not been looking forward to try dragging that thing out the door of their room if the inn's staff hadn't gotten around to it yet.

"Are you hungry?" Emmanuel asked. He gestured to a plate set up where the wash basin had been that morning. It held a small bunches of grapes, several slices of apple, a few different types of berries, and cubes of a white cheese Dean didn't know enough to identify.

"I could eat," he said, walking over to meet Em by the dessert tray. "What's the occasion?"

Em just smiled.

"Call it an apology for ruining your breakfast this morning," he said. Dean chuckled.

"Thought that was why you bought me dinner," he said, reaching down and breaking off a few grapes. He popped one into his mouth and bit, letting it explode on his tongue. "You gonna share it with me?"

Dean nudged the plate towards Emmanuel.

"I'd hoped to," Em said, expression turning into something soft and warm and somehow nervous. Dean frowned, wondering at the strange answer and the even stranger tension he could feel in the air, but before he could speak, Em glanced down towards the hand still holding the grapes.

"May I try one?" Em asked. Dean slowly nodded his head, puzzled.

"Sure...?" he said. He gestured to the plate still heaped with fruit between them, clearly meaning 'help yourself', and twisted another grape off the bunch he held.

As he lifted it to his mouth, Em's hand shot out and grabbed his wrist. Dean froze, almost dropping the grape, but a quick glance at Emmanuel's face at once calmed him and confused him more.

Em seemed oddly intense, strangely nervous, his eyes focused on the grape. Then his gaze shifted, his eyes meeting Dean's, and Dean couldn't breathe.

A glimmer of recognition was dancing through him, something he hadn't really dared hope for suddenly playing out in front of his eyes.

"Em...?" he said, mouth dry. Emmanuel didn't respond, just gently tugged Dean's wrist as he leaned forward, never once looking away from Dean. He opened his mouth and ate the grape from Dean's hand, his lips and teeth barely brushing Dean's fingertips.

Dean's brain short circuited. He dropped the bunch of grapes through suddenly numb fingers and for the second time that day, food hit the floor and scattered.

He could only stare as Emmanuel drew back, chewing and swallowing and looking suddenly uncertain. There was a beat of silence, one Dean didn't know how to fill, and Em dropped his gaze and Dean's wrist, withdrawing.

"Thank you," Emmanuel said, voice thick. He cleared his throat and made as if to push away, turning from Dean and the plate of fruits and cheeses.

Dean didn't want that. He blindly reached for the plate and picked up the first thing his fingers touched; a small cube of cheese. He barely glanced at it before presenting it to Emmanuel's back.

"Try this?" he offered. Emmanuel paused, half-turned, looking from Dean to the cheese and then back again. Dean held his breath. The air in the small room was suddenly stifling.

Emmanuel gently took Deans wrist once more and leaned in. He wasn't looking at the cheese as he took it in his mouth, but rather staring into Dean's eyes. There was a challenge and a question in those beautiful blue eyes.

An invitation.

Emmanuel licked Dean's fingertips, ostensibly getting every last trace of cheese off of Dean's skin. Dean didn't dare breathe, couldn't even remember how. 

"It's good," Em said, his lips just barely brushing Dean's skin. He let go of Dean's hand. "Another?"

Dean didn't need to be told twice. He groped blindly for the tray, fingers finding a loose grape and he brought it up to feed Emmanuel again.

This time, Em didn't guide his wrist. Em simply opened his mouth and permitted Dean to feed him. Dean shivered, eyes transfixed on Emmanuel's mouth as he shifted closer. He dragged his fingertips over Emmanuel's lips, heart racing at the hitch in Em's breath.

He wondered what else Em might permit him.

He'd been all right with taking things slow, but if Em was willing, Dean was certainly not going to say no.

"Hungry?" Em asked. Dean almost growled, his blood so hot he was surprised his clothing hadn't combusted.

"Yes," Dean said. He leaned in, searching for any sign of hesitation or second thoughts, waiting with baited breath for a clear 'yes'.

Emmanuel smiled and lifted a slice of apple from the plate, offering it to Dean and stopping him short.

"Do you want it?" Em asked. His voice was carefully light, but simultaneously too heavy for such a simple question.

Dean had only one answer to give.

He closed the last bit of distance between them, opening his mouth to slide over the morsel of fruit held between Em's fingers. Dean bit down, letting his teeth just brush Em's fingertips. He chewed and swallowed quickly, more interested in chasing the bits of juice that had clung to Emmanuel's skin.

He laid sucking, worshipful little kisses to the pads of Em's fingers. He let his mouth linger on Emmanuel's index finger, tracing a line down to Em's palm with his tongue just to feel Emmanuel shiver.

"Dean..." Em said, voice airy with excitement.

Dean kissed Emmanuel's palm, slow and lingering. Only then did he dare look up.

Em's eyes were dark, pupils wide. Dean could smell the spice of his arousal in the air, the sweetness of his slick, and it sent a thrill down his spine, built a heat in his lower gut.

"Do you want...?" Dean asked, his voice so husky it was almost a growl. He moved even closer, brushing their noses together, letting the question linger.

"_ Yes _ ," Emmanuel said, sharp and decisive and _ sure _.

Then Emmanuel's mouth was on his and Dean couldn't say who moved, but in the moment he couldn't have cared less. Em's lips were pressed clumsily to his, off center and rough and _ perfect _ nonetheless. Dean angled his head and gentled the kiss, drawing back just far enough for it to become a caress rather than a mashing of mouths.

Emmanuel followed his lead. He opened his mouth at the gentle prodding of Dean's tongue, making a small noise in the back of his throat when Dean slid his tongue just along the inside of his lower lip.

The sound went straight to Dean's groin and he groaned. He pulled back just to trail kisses from the corner of Em's mouth to the bolt of his jaw, laving the curve of it with little kisses and nips as Emmanuel trembled.

"What do you like?" Dean asked against Em's ear, letting his lips brush the shell of it on every word. He nuzzled into Em's hair, making no secret of it as he inhaled deeply, scenting Emmanuel.

"This," Em said breathlessly. He turned his head towards Dean, kissing him again, softer than the first time but still without much in the way of finesse. "Anything. Everything."

A memory came back to Dean then, one of a campfire and a quiet, almost embarrassed admission.

'"I've never had occasion."'

Dean kissed Emmanuel, long and luxurious, walking his fingers up under Em's tunic. Em shivered as Dean's hands found warm skin and Dean laid his palms flat, thrilled at the way Em's muscles jumped as he continued his slow journey upward.

"Let me take care of you," Dean said. He couldn't think of anything he wanted more than to just _ take care _ of Em, to draw out every little sound from his throat and find every sensitive, as-yet-unknown place on his body that could bring him pleasure.

And a small, viciously primal part of him wanted to leave his mark on Emmanuel's body, inside and out. To make this a night Em would never forget, to show him how good two bodies together could feel.

"Yes," Em said, more air than word. He lifted his arms, letting Dean pull his tunic off over his head. Dean dropped it at their feet. Em looked at him, wetting his lips unconsciously. "_ Alpha _."

The fire in Dean's blood sparked higher. He groaned and pulled Em into another kiss, claiming those damp lips and sweeping in with his tongue.

Emmanuel groped at Dean's chest, fingers blindly and clumsily seeking the edge of Dean's tunic to put them back on an even footing. Dean tore his hands away from Em's burning skin to assist, roughly yanking his tunic free of his breeches and pulling it over his head before discarding it carelessly.

Em's eyes raked over Dean's chest, wide and almost disbelieving, lingering on the distinct bulge at the laces of Dean's breeches. Dean smiled and pulled Emmanuel in for another kiss, letting his hands drop low to cup the omega's ass.

"We should- the bed," Em said as he arched into the touch. Dean made a noise of assent, burying his face in Emmanuel's neck and nipping lightly at the scent gland just to hear Em whine.

"Yes, we should," Dean replied. 

As one unit, they moved towards Dean's bed, until at last the back of Emmanuel's knees hit the edge and buckled. He fell back, pulling Dean down on top of him and into another deep kiss. Dean settled himself in between Em's thighs and let his hands roam freely, fingertips skimming up Emmanuel's ribs, palms smoothing over his chest to feel his rapidly-beating heart, dipping down just below the waistband of Emmanuel's breeches.

Emmanuel bucked, chasing the touch, breathing heavily against Dean's mouth. Dean kissed him one more time, sweetly, then began trailing his mouth down the side of the omega's neck. He nipped, careful not to break the skin, then kissed and laved each spot with his tongue, breathing in deep lungfuls of Em's scent.

"Dean," Em groaned, arching against him. His hands dropped from where they had been exploring the broad expanse of Dean's back to free himself from the confines of his breeches, but his hurried attempts at untying them only resulted in a tangle of knots.

Dean chuckled at Emmanuel's annoyed huff, rising up to kiss him again and teasing Em's mouth open with his tongue. After making sure that Em had been thoroughly kissed, Dean broke off to murmur in his ear.

"Let me," he said. Em shivered and nodded, sending a thrill through Dean as heady as any wine he'd ever drunk. He made his way down Emmanuel's body, stopping ony briefly to lave some attention on Em's peaked nipples. He had a far more interesting destination in mind.

He savored the way Em's abdominal muscles jumped under his tongue as he continued downward and relished the short, sharp little sounds Emmanuel made. Dean ran his hands up Em's hips and then slowly slid inward, mindful of Em's every reaction.

But there was no hesitation, no fear. No doubt, no regret.

"Dean," Em breathed as Dean tugged at the knots. Dean chuckled.

"You sure got yourself all tangled up," Dean said, even as he worked the first of the knots loose. He let his fingers brush against the bulge beneath the laces, teasing Em just a little, just to enjoy the hitches in Em's breathing and the buck of his hips.

"Never had to untie myself in a hurry," Em grumbled. Dean laughed as he got the last of the laces worked loose.

"Lift up," he said, looking up to make eye contact with Em. He tugged gently on Emmanuel's breeches to make sure he got the idea.

"Then you," Em said. Dean nodded, already far more distracted with peeling Em's pants down his legs. He took his time with it, laying worshipful kisses on every inch of bare skin as he moved downwards, paying special attention to the sensitive skin of Em's inner thighs.

He tossed the breeches off the side of the bed and turned back to find Em already tugging at the fastener for his own smallclothes. Dean watched, drinking in the sight as Emmanuel pulled the last of his clothing off, leaving him gloriously bare.

The scent of slick was heavy in the air, especially now that there was no barrier between Dean and the source. Em was thick and long, already fully hard and leaking just a little from the tip. Dean wet his lips unconsciously.

"Your turn," Em said, bringing Dean's attention back to his face. Emmanuel was flushed, expression almost embarrassed but pleased, and Dean couldn't resist leaning over to kiss him again, then a second time for good measure, more tongue than lips.

"You're gorgeous," Dean said. Em smiled, dropping his hands to Dean's breeches and tugging pointedly.

"Let me see you, Dean," he said. Dean didn't need to be told again. He tore himself away from Em, the air of the room feeling chilly against his super heated skin, and got off the bed. He quickly shucked his breeches and smallclothes, then turned back to find Em sitting up and staring at him, blue eyes wide and wanting and dark.

Dean grinned and climbed back into the bed slowly, letting Emmanuel look his fill. There was something so powerful about seeing such naked desire in a lover's eyes, especially Em's eyes, and Dean reveled in it.

"See something you like?" Dean couldn't resist asking, voice low and husky. Emmanuel gave him a long, slow once-over, ending with his eyes staring intensely into Dean's for what felt like an eternity trapped inside a moment.

"Yes," Em said, so seriously that Dean shivered. He'd meant it as a joke, a lighthearted call-and-response, but Em's answer was anything but.

Dean leaned in and kissed him again slowly, deeply, chest rumbling in approval as Em melted into him.

"How do you want to do this?" Dean asked, still nose to nose with Em. He ran his short nails up one of Em's sides, scratching lightly.

Emmanuel spread his legs, welcoming Dean closer, and Dean was nothing if not greedy. He crowded in, skimming his hands over every bit of skin he could reach in languid, unhurried strokes. He resisted the urge to reach down between their bodies and take Emmanuel in hand, not wanting things to be over so soon and not wanting to overwhelm the other man.

And he really, _ really _ wanted to hear Em ask for it.

"I want everything," Em said. He ducked his head for a moment, as though shy, but there was no hesitation when he spoke. "I want your knot." 

Dean felt the words echo in him, stoking the fire inside to new heights. He didn't always tie off with his partners; knotting was intimate. It implied things beyond a simple good time, things Dean had rarely felt like promising to anyone, with or without words.

The few times he had, though, had been unimaginably blissful. And the thought of tying off with Em...

It wouldn't be practical, but Dean _ wanted _.

"I don't have any protection," he felt compelled to admit. Em lifted his chin.

"I'm not in heat. It shouldn't be a problem," he said. Dean wavered.

Em leaned in and kissed the bolt of Dean's jaw and nuzzled into his neck. He breathed in.

"Please, alpha," he said, voice low and soft. 

Dean's restraint broke with an almost audible 'snap'.

He turned his head and captured Em's mouth again. He shifted a little, angling himself better to lay Em down on the bed, his head on the pillow. Em let himself be guided down, clutching at Dean's head and neck, kissing back just as messily as Dean kissed him.

Dean finally pulled back, momentarily satisfied with the well-kissed redness of Emmanuel's mouth and the quiet, excited panting of his breathing. Em stared up at him, sweat damp hair stuck to his forehead and a red flush reaching almost down to his navel.

"Yeah, ok," Dean said. He leaned over Em again to nip at his ear and neck. "You want my knot? You can have it."

Em shivered as Dean began making his way down Em's body once more, though this time Dean was interested in a more thorough exploration. The end goal was in sight, but Dean was in no rush to get there, not when he still had a thousand little noises to pull from Em's throat and hundreds of things left he wanted to try.

He lingered at the junction of Em's neck and shoulder, scraping his teeth lightly against his scent gland, sucking and kissing and biting hard enough to bruise but not break the skin. It was terribly possessive, more primal than Dean usually got, but Em had no complaints. He tilted his head, exposing more of his neck to Dean's mouth, breathlessly calling Dean's name.

Dean took full advantage, marking up as much of Em's neck as he could reach. He wanted the marks to last, wanted to be able to look at Emmanuel in two or three days and still see his touch on Em's skin.

"You like that?" Dean asked, moving to Emmanuel's collarbone. "You like the idea that everyone who sees you tomorrow will know exactly what we did tonight?"

"Yes," Em said. He squirmed as Dean moved down further, sucking and mouthing at his nipples, teasing them with light brushes of his lips and blowing gently to send a shiver through Emmanuel's whole body. "Dean, _ please _-"

Em grabbed Dean's hand and tried to shove it lower, to where he must've been painfully hard and wanting, but Dean wasn't done yet. He carefully extricated his hand from Emmanuel's grip and drew his fingers up the crease between Em's groin and inner thigh, so close yet still not touching where Em wanted him most. Em growled low in his throat, lifting his hips to chase the touch, but Dean set his hand on Em's hip and held him down.

"Dean-"

"Patience," Dean said, kissing a small mole right next to one of Em's nipples. "It'll be worth it, I promise. Just trust me."

"I do, but..." Em said, wiggling and twisting, thighs squeezing around Dean's hips. "I need..."

"I know, I got you," Dean said. He took pity on Em, giving in to the omega's soft, needy sounds and his own urgency. He did place one kiss on Emmanuel's belly, the muscles covered by a thin layer of softness, promising them; "Next time."

He must've been far gone if he was already thinking of a 'next time'.

He drew back and shifted himself a little further down the bed. He ran his hands up over Em's hips, then back down slowly, drifting inwards to press at his inner thighs just above the knees. Em took the hint and spread for him, giving him room to work.

The scent of slick was almost overwhelming, sweet and spicy and intoxicating. Dean nuzzled one of Em's inner thighs and slowly, deliberately began making his way up to the junction of said thighs. Emmanuel's breathing grew quicker with every inch Dean moved, low whines sneaking out of his throat.

Dean finally stopped, mouth hovering just above Em's cock. Em was leaking quite a bit and Dean felt a burst of pride; without even touching him, Em was already so worked up. Dean had done that, he had made Em feel that good.

He looked up across the plane of Em's body to find Em propped up on his elbows, staring at him. Dean met and held his gaze, but saw no sign of hesitation or second thoughts. Slowly, never breaking eye contact, he dragged one hand over Emmanuel's skin to finally, _ finally _ wrap around the base of his dick.

His reaction was not disappointing. Em's eyes fluttered shut, a gasp tearing itself from his mouth. Dean stroked him, long and smooth, running his palm over the head of Em's cock to make his grip slide.

Dean kept the movements of his hand steady as he watched Emmanuel with rapt attention. Emmanuel was glorious with pleasure pouring through him, hips bucking, breath heaving, Dean's name falling from his lips like a prayer, faster and faster.

But Dean was far from done.

He lowered his head and took just the tip of Em's dick into his mouth. Em's eyes flew open, hips arching uncontrollably to chase the wet heat, but Dean had been prepared. He slid one arm across Em's hips and held him steady as he lowered his head down, down.

Em writhed, one hand gripping the blankets beneath him, the other clawing at the top of Dean's head. His thighs flexed against Dean's shoulders, trying to draw him closer, press him harder into Em's body.

"Dean," he moaned, trembling from the stimulation. "Dean, I'm-"

Dean made an encouraging hum in the back of his throat, bobbing his head up and down and stroking everything he couldn't fit into his mouth. It didn't take long before Emmanuel let out a choked cry of Dean's name, body going tense and shuddering as he came down Dean's throat.

Dean swallowed rapidly, slowing the motions of his head as he gently worked Em through it, drawing out the pleasure for all it was worth. Eventually, Em floated back down, his breathing evening out and his body going loose and relaxed. Dean finally pulled back, letting Em's now soft cock slip from his mouth.

"Good?" he asked, voice hoarse. Em nodded, eyes still glazed with pleasure.

"That was..." he said, chest heaving. "That was..."

He shook his head, apparently unable to come up with words to describe the experience. Dean grinned, ignoring his own arousal for the moment, even though by now he was in quite a state.

Emmanuel looked at him, eyes narrow in confusion.

"Have you...?"

"Come?" Dean finished for him. He gave Em a smile and kissed high up on his inner thigh. "Not yet, but I believe you asked for my knot..."

He trailed his hands down, smoothing over the curve of Em's ass. He dipped his fingers in between, groaning as they slid easily through the slick. There was more of it than he'd expected, but that was perfect. It would make the way nice and slippery for him.

"Gotta get you good and prepared for me, sweetheart," he said, teasing one finger against Em's entrance, but not pressing in, not yet. "Don't want to hurt you."

"Then do it," Em said. He angled his hips more, opening himself up to the probing finger.

Dean kept his pace slow, even as anticipation thrummed through his blood. He pressed inwards, gently, just enough to tease the tight ring of muscle into almost giving but not quite, then drew back to run his slick fingers over the sensitive skin behind Em's balls.

The orgasm would have loosened him up some, but he would still be far too tight to take anything larger than a finger. Dean lowered his hand again and pressed a little more firmly, ever so slowly and gently working his way inside. He alternated forward advances with gentle touches to Em's inner thighs, perineum, and even his lower belly, keeping him calm and relaxed until Dean could slip a finger knuckle-deep without any resistance whatsoever.

Em's eyes widened as he adjusted to it, moving his hips a little as though to get a feel for what was inside him.

"Oh," he said, breathless. "That feels different when someone else does it."

Dean groaned, cock twitching as mental images flooded his mind; Em on his back, one hand on his cock and the other three fingers deep inside. Dean leaned over to kiss Em again, keeping up the steady back-and-forth of his hand, finger sliding along Em's inner walls.

"You're gonna be the death of me," Dean said, slipping his finger out just enough to start the process over with two. Em whined, trembling as Dean opened him up by increments, spreading his fingers and drawing them out slowly, only to bring them together and plunge them back in.

On one such dive, Dean's fingers brushed against something that seemed to send sparks through Em's body. He jerked his hips into the touch with a cry, eyes wide in surprise.

"That's the spot," Dean said, thrusting his fingers back in and deliberately brushing against the place again to pull another long moan from Em's throat. "Take it you didn't know about it?"

Em shook his head.

"Too deep," he said. "Couldn't reach it with my fingers."

Dean grinned. The next time he slid his fingers in, there were three of them, and Em took a long, shuddering breath as his body adjusted. His cock was already beginning to take interest in the proceedings again, growing harder the more Dean teased his rim and opened him up.

"Dean," Em said, voice almost a whine. "_ Dean- _"

"Soon, sweetheart, you're doing so good for me," Dean said. He spread his fingers and twisted his wrist, making sure Em was good and loose all around, then stroked him from inside out long and slow. His fingers made wet, sloppy sounds as he thrust back in, so much slick still leaking from Emmanuel.

"I'm ready, I'm ready now, Dean, please-"

Dean plunged his fingers back in, unerringly seeking out that _ spot _ and pressing, rubbing, drawing a hoarse cry from Em. Then Dean finally pulled back, leaving Em panting and shaking.

"Turn over," Dean said, voice so husky it was almost a growl. Emmanuel quickly flipped onto his hands and knees, still trembling from nerves or excitement or overstimulation, Dean couldn't tell.

Dean ran a hand over Em's side to soothe him, taking in the broad, powerful expanse of Em's back.

"Still good?" he asked. Em nodded and spread his legs wider, looking over his shoulder just long enough to speak.

"Dean. Alpha... _ please _," he said.

Dean couldn't refuse those blue eyes anything. Nor did he want to.

He moved closer and kissed Em's shoulder sweetly, lining himself up to just rut against Em's backside without going in. He slid easily through the copious slick, groaning at the friction. He thrust once, twice, the head of his cock catching on but sliding over the entrance to Emmanuel's body.

Em made a displeased noise and tried to move, to catch Dean, but Dean laid himself along Em's back and grabbed Em's hips to hold him still.

"Just gotta get myself nice and slippery for you," Dean said in his ear, feeling the effect his words had on his lover. "You've made all this lovely slick for me, sweetheart, let me use it to make things good for you."

"Stop teasing me," Em said. Dean laughed and reached down to take himself in hand, stroking quickly to spread Em's slick all along his shaft.

"Bossy, bossy," Dean said, though he couldn't have minded less. He lined himself up properly this time and then slowly, slowly pressed inside.

Em drew in a gasping breath, back arching against the solidness of Dean's body as Dean pushed in and in and _ in _, impossibly deep. Dean moaned as he bottomed out, breathing almost as heavily as Emmanuel.

Em was so tight around him, so hot and wet, muscles contracting around Dean in a wave Dean could feel from tip to root. He settled himself there, just breathing as he waited for Em's body to adjust.

"Good?" Dean asked, barely able to get the word out. Em nodded, breathing deep and visibly forcing himself to relax.

"You're so..." Em clenched around Dean's cock, pulling a surprised groan from Dean's mouth. Em moaned, pressing back further as though to take more of Dean into himself. "You feel so good."

"Can I move?" Dean asked, peppering Em's shoulder with kisses. He slid a hand over Em's shoulder and down his arm, letting his hand rest over Emmanuel's with their fingers entwined.

Em turned his head again, bringing their faces close enough to almost kiss.

"Yes," Em said. Dean made a low, guttural noise of relief and began to rock his hips. He started with slow, short strokes, mindful of Em's inexperience, slowly graduating to longer, harder, faster thrusts, the slap of flesh on flesh filling the room.

Em was moaning and panting as he moved with Dean, a litany of Dean's name falling from his lips, interspersed with pleas for more, harder, faster. A loud keening sound ripped from Em's throat when Dean found that spot inside him again. Dean made it a point to find that spot with every subsequent thrust, hitting it more often than not.

Dean didn't even know what words were spilling from his own mouth; it all tasted like sweet, reassuring babble as it flowed off his tongue like honey. All he knew was the sound of Emmanuel's pleasure-wrecked voice, the tight grip of his body, the smell of sweat and sex and slick.

Dean nosed his way to the junction of Em's neck and shoulder again, the same one he'd thoroughly marked up earlier. He nuzzled against the bruises, the same wild, possessive thrill going through him as Em just tilted his head and bared himself to Dean completely.

And Dean wanted.

He wanted to take the unconscious offer and bite down hard enough to draw blood, to leave a permanent scar. He wanted to claim Emmanuel as his own, wanted to keep Em at his side with a ferocity that surprised even him. Never before had he been so tempted to claim an omega, but there was something about Emmanuel that drew Dean in just as powerfully as a dancing flame called a moth.

Dean resisted. He bit down on his own lip, tasting blood, letting that calm his primal alpha instincts.

He was no barbarian, doing whatever he wanted and damn the consequences. Emmanuel would choose the time and place of his claiming; it was not Dean's decision to take from him.

"You close?" Dean asked, reaching underneath their joined bodies to find Em's now fully erect cock. He stroked Em in time with his thrusts, hoping to bring them over that edge together and knowing his own peak was fast approaching.

"Yes, Dean, yes, I..." Em managed to say, before breaking off into a low moan. "_ Dean _."

"'M right there with you, Em," Dean said. He moved faster, trying desperately to keep his rhythm steady as the pleasure in his veins burned white-hot. His knot started to swell, throbbing.

Em fisted his hands in the blankets, hips stuttering. Dean redoubled his efforts, whispering sweet nonsense in Em's ear.

"You're doing so good, so fucking good for me, Em, _ Emmanuel _..."

He thrust in one more time, his knot swelling and catching, locking them together. Em cried out Dean's name as his body clenched, shaking and practically sobbing as he spilled over Dean's hand and the blankets below.

Em's orgasm pulled Dean right along with him and Dean moaned something that might've been Emmanuel's name as he emptied himself inside his lover. His body kept moving on autopilot, grinding against that spot inside Em, keeping them riding that high together for as long as they could.

Slowly, the white haze cleared. Dean became aware of himself again, feeling thoroughly satisfied and quite content. He realized that, at some point, Em had collapsed onto his front and Dean was still laying all across his back.

Dean grinned and carefully maneuvered them, one hand on Em's hip to steer so that he didn't tug where they were still joined. Em grunted when Dean wasn't quite successful, probably feeling quite tender there, but settled himself all the way back against Dean's chest and sighed happily.

Dean wrapped his arms around Em and nuzzled close. They were quite the mess and sticky, and Dean could feel fluids leaking around his knot, but those were problems for Dean-ten-minutes-from-now. All Dean-now wanted was to enjoy a rather spectacular afterglow and a healthy dose of cuddling; something he didn't let himself indulge in all that often.

But as long as Em didn't mind, Dean was quite happy to stay right where he was.

* * *

Castiel relaxed into Dean's hold, sore in places he'd never been and sleepy, but indescribably content.

That was definitely something he'd be interested in doing again, assuming Dean was too. Despite the mess.

"So..?" Dean asked, as if sensing Castiel's thoughts. Cas could feel his voice as a low rumble all down his back and he smiled lazily at the far wall. 

"Messy, but..." He shrugged a little and turned his head to catch Dean's eye. "Good."

Dean chuckled and boosted himself up on one arm enough to kiss him, slow and lazy and without intent.

"Just good?" Dean asked, eyes sparkling with mirth. Cas couldn't keep the smile off his face.

"Very good," he said. Dean laughed again and kissed him some more. They exchanged lazy kisses until Cas's neck began to hurt from the awkward angle and Dean's knot finally deflated.

"Wait here," Dean said as he pulled out carefully. A rush of body fluids followed him and Cas wrinkled his nose in disgust.

"Where are you-" he started, but he didn't even finish the question before Dean was back, with something Cas recognized as Dean's tunic in hand.

"It's softer than the crap they call a rag here," Dean said by way of explanation. He began to wipe Cas down, getting as much of the mess off of his skin as possible. Cas would've complained that he didn't need to be coddled, but it was actually... very nice.

And, he realized after a moment, his skin was _ very _ sensitized. The gentle slide of the soft tunic was almost too much to bear against his most intimate places, but Dean was nothing if not an attentive and caring lover. Once he was done with the back, Dean rolled Cas over and took care of the front in the same manner.

Task completed, Dean gave himself a perfunctory wipe-down with the cleanest part of the tunic he could find and then tossed it aside. He reached for Cas and carefully pulled him to a sitting position, much to Castiel's displeasure.

"Dean..." he said. He wasn't whining. He didn't _ whine _.

Dean just grinned.

"Come on, sleepyhead, I ain't sleeping in the wet spot and I don't think you want to either," he said. He tugged gently and Castiel found himself standing on wobbly legs, stumbling the two steps towards what had been his bed the past few nights. He collapsed onto it, Dean climbing in after him. After a little maneuvering, they found a comfortable sleeping position; Cas laying half on top of Dean, head on his chest and an arm and a leg flung over Dean's body. Dean lay on his back, one arm wrapped around Cas's shoulders, a hand playing with his hair.

It really was very nice, and Dean's chest was very comfortable. His heartbeat was soothing, a constant, stable rhythm beneath Cas's ear, and the smell of him, of them, was all around.

Castiel felt safe.

He felt wanted.

He felt, dare he even think it, _ loved _.

Cas drifted into sleep, happier than he could remember being in a long, long time.

* * *

Afterwards, Dean laid awake and watched Emmanuel sleep. There was still a soft smile playing at Em's lips and Dean let himself enjoy the sight, feeling sated and content in a way he hadn't felt in what felt like forever.

He let his fingers play through Emmanuel's hair, scritching against his scalp with his nails. Em just made a soft noise of pleasure and nuzzled closer to Dean, tucking his nose into Dean's neck.

Dean couldn't lose this.

He refused to give this up, not now that he'd had a taste. It would destroy him.

But he couldn't abandon his country either. He'd never be able to set foot inside Kanaan again, let alone Lawrens. He'd never see Sam or Benny or his mother again.

Unconsciously, his arm tightened around Em.

He would simply have to bring Emmanuel with him.

In the morning, he would tell Em everything. About being a prince, about the sham of a marriage, the treaty that necessitated it, everything. He would lay everything he was at Emmanuel's feet and then he'd ask him to stay.

It wasn't the done thing these days, keeping a consort in the palace. Occasional dalliances could be overlooked as necessary to keep a royal marriage peaceful, but it was generally expected that the royal couple be visibly loyal to each other in order to set an example for the lower classes. Affairs were meant to be discreet, fleeting things so everyone could comfortably turn a blind eye.

Dean refused to hide Emmanuel away. He wasn't about to lock Em up in a country house with servants paid for their silence and visit every few weeks while someone he didn't know and didn't even care for shared his bed.

If Emmanuel had been an alpha, there was no way Dean's plan would fly. As it was, there would be enough of an uproar from the church and the nobility with Dean reviving the long-dead position of King's Consort. If he'd tried to give the position to another alpha male, he wouldn't be surprised if the people called for him to abdicate.

Dean didn't even dare to venture a guess as to what his husband-to-be would think of Em, but if their prince was as traditional as the rest of Elysium, he was probably either expecting Dean to have frequent affairs or wouldn't care in the least. That whole mess was a problem for another time.

But Dean was willing, if Em was.

Emmanuel would want for nothing. If he came with Dean, Dean could keep him in the finest fabrics, the softest furs. He could teach Em how to hunt, how to fish, how to forage. They could spend long weekends in the hunting cabin in the King's Forest, enjoying nothing but the thrill of the hunt and each other's company.

Dean wanted it so badly he ached.

And if Emmanuel said no, if he didn't want that life for himself... well, Dean would do what he could. The least he could offer was work if Emmanuel wanted to earn his way, or enough coin to get Em set up doing whatever he pleased with his time.

But Dean really hoped Emmanuel said 'yes'.


	7. Captured

The first thing Castiel was aware of was the warmth.

He woke slowly, mind still foggy as he felt his pillow breathe. He smiled as memories of the night before came back to him and he nuzzled closer to Dean, too comfortable to even consider moving.

"Good morning."

Well, he might consider it for one thing.

He turned his head to look up and found Dean already awake, smiling sleepily at him. Cas felt a smile stretch his own lips in response and pressed himself forward just enough to indulge himself with a chaste, close-mouthed kiss to Dean's lips.

The movement pulled on his muscles and he realized he felt sore all over, though wonderfully so. He still felt steeped in the afterglow from the night before, and every slide of skin on skin and every twinge he felt sent another little burst of light through him.

Dean made a low noise of appreciation and returned Cas's kiss with one of his own, running a hand lazily over his back. Cas felt a laugh bubble up in his throat, his happiness far too great to be contained.

"I don't know 'bout you," Dean said, each word a low rumble Castiel could feel against his chest. "But I could go for some breakfast."

Even having said that, Dean made no move to get up, nor to shift Castiel off of him. Cas could have stayed right where he was for an eternity, quite happily, but he was getting rather hungry himself.

"I'll go," Cas offered. He pushed himself up, ignoring Dean's wordless, grumpy protest. Dean sat up after Cas had stood, blinking tiredly in Cas's general direction and frowning.

"You don't have to, I can go," Dean said. He covered a yawn with one hand and made to get up, but Cas had stepped back by the bed and gently pressed down against Dean's chest.

"You took care of me last night, alpha," Cas said, pressing another kiss to Dean's cheek, unable to resist the temptation. "Now it's my turn. Let me take care of you."

"Mmmkay," Dean mumbled, stealing one last, sleepy kiss from Cas before laying back down. "Come back soon."

"I will," Cas promised, watching for a moment as Dean made himself comfortable in the bed, rolling over onto his stomach to bury his face in Cas's pillow, clutching it to his chest as though he needed  _ something _ to cuddle with, and if Castiel wasn't going to stay in bed then Dean would make do.

Cas tore himself away from the sight and dressed quickly, wanting to make good on his promise. He didn't bother washing up, not particularly caring if passers-by on the street knew exactly what he'd been up to the night before. Dean had taken care of the worst of the mess before they'd fallen asleep, anyway, and Castiel rather liked Dean's scent clinging to his skin.

He grabbed his coin purse as he quietly left the room, stealing one last glance at his sleeping lover as he shut the door.

* * *

Castiel could have simply walked down to the kitchens and purchased whatever the cook was serving for breakfast that day, but that felt understated, somehow. Treating that morning like any other morning felt wrong when Castiel couldn't remember ever feeling happier or more hopeful.

For the first time since he'd left home, Cas truly felt as though he'd reclaimed all that his mother had attempted to take from him. Eggs and toast simply did not do the feeling justice, and if Cas wanted to spoil Dean a little, he was sure the alpha wasn't going to complain.

He slipped out the door of the inn and began making his way back to the bakery they had visited on their first afternoon in Rhoads. The market around him was only just beginning to wake up as he walked through, merchants setting up shop for the day and early risers taking leisurely strolls, looking into the open tents and mentally noting which ones to return to when the festival had properly opened for the day. He found the bakery easily, and if he hadn't remembered the way, he was certain that the enticing smells already drifting through the air would have reminded him the moment he got close.

Castiel walked in. Donna looked up from where she'd been setting out fist-sized muffins for display.

"Be with you in just a- oh, hello!" she said cheerfully. "Great to see you again! Emmanuel, wasn't it?"

"Yes," Cas said. "Though I'm surprised you remember. This time of year, you must have a lot of customers."

Donna beamed.

"I have a knack!" she said cheerfully. She looked past him. "Where's your young man?"

"Still sleeping," Cas said, voice warm. He wasn't entirely sure what his face was doing, but Donna blinked, then her eyes flicked to his neck and went wide.

Remembering all the attention Dean had paid the scent gland there the night before, Castiel's hand flew up to cover what he was sure was a very obvious mark, but Donna had clearly already seen.

"Oh," she said, her face melting into a soppy, knowing grin. Castiel let his hand drop, unable to resist skimming the tips of his fingers over the mark.

Dean hadn't bit him, not properly, but having a mark  _ there _ , left by Dean's teeth and lips, felt like a promise, something more lasting than just a single night's passion.

"Congratulations to you both," Donna said.

"Thank you," Cas said. He cleared his throat and decided to move the conversation along. Dean wouldn't sleep forever and he wanted to be back before Dean had a chance to wonder where he went. "Do you have any of those small fruit pies?"

Dean had seemed rather enamored of them, and though Cas was pretty sure pie was not typically a breakfast food, he didn't think Dean would care.

Donna winked.

"You're in luck," she said. "Those were the first things I made this morning, they should be just cool enough to eat by now. Blueberry today, if that's all right?"

"Sounds wonderful," Cas said.

She disappeared into the work area of the bakery and came back out with two of the handheld pastries.

"Bringing him breakfast in bed?" Donna asked as she wrapped each pie in thick paper.

"Yes," Cas said. Donna smiled softly.

"My Jody used to do that for me all the time," she said. "Still does sometimes, on special occasions."

She finished wrapping the second pie and held them both out to Cas in a short stack. When he reached into his purse to pay, she waved him off.

"On the house," she said.

Castiel took the pies gratefully, heart fit to burst from his chest, overflowing with emotion.

"Thank you," he said. Donna just shrugged, her smile sweet and soft.

"I love love, especially young love, so thank you," she said, winking. "And congratulations again. You two come back and see me again sometime, all right?"

"We will," Cas promised. He left the bakery with his prize clutched to his chest, mind already racing back to the inn, to Dean still sleepy and soft in bed, to the possibility of being allowed to handfeed Dean his breakfast piece by piece and perhaps kissing away any errant filling from the side of his mouth, sucking berry juice off of his fingers.

Perhaps Dean could be convinced to stay in Rhoads another night and they would spend all day in their room, only coming out for meals. And after... well, Castiel had no destination in mind. As long as Dean didn't plan on venturing too far into Elysium, Castiel could follow wherever he led.

He let his mind wander down that path, half-dreaming of possible futures not dictated by his designation or his status, when suddenly a voice cut through the peace of the morning.

"Prince Castiel?"

Castiel's stomach dropped to his boots.

He turned, unable to breathe, clutching the warm pastries in his hands with too much force lest he drop them through suddenly numb fingers.

The voice belonged to Ion, who stood only feet away, staring at him in shock and triumph. Esper and Mirabel flanked him, and though none of them were holding weapons, Castiel could see their hands drift towards the hilts of their swords.

Castiel backed up a step, mind blank. He'd left his knives in the room with Dean, foolishly believing he wouldn't need them for such a quick errand, and he cursed himself for his lack of foresight.

He had to run. Hopefully he would be able to lose the knights and then he could head back to the Dove & Dragonfly. He'd wake Dean and explain that they had to leave immediately. They'd mount Chevy, ride for the nearest gate, and then-

He turned, ready to run, but stopped short, ice filling his stomach.

Abner and Ishim were coming at him from the other end of the row of tents, cutting off his escape.

Castiel looked around wildly, but there was nowhere to run. He was boxed in by the knights and the rows of tents, no escape to either side that didn't involve trying to squeeze himself through the narrow space between the tents or going through the tents themselves. He'd be a sitting duck; if he didn't get wedged in between, he'd almost certainly end up tripping over a table full of wares or tangled in the oiled cloth that made up the walls.

The knights had no such dilemma. All five were slowly closing in, like a pack of hounds cornering an injured fox.

But injured foxes still have teeth.

Castiel flung the pies in his hands directly at Ishim's vicious smirk and bolted towards him, ignoring Ishim's shout of rage and pain as the paper wrappings and pastry crust exploded against his skin, hot sugar and fruit burning him instantly.

Castiel dodged Ishim's blindly grasping hands. He felt the knight's fingers just brush the back of his shirt and then he was out of range. The few townspeople exploring the festival scattered in front of him, clearing a path so he wouldn't barrel them over.

"Get him!"

The knights gave chase behind him, shouting things Castiel didn't bother to listen to as he darted around a corner in hopes of finding somewhere to hide. He didn't dare lead them to the Dove & Dragonfly, couldn't afford to get trapped on the second floor of the inn, with its narrow hallway and locked doors.

He couldn't lead them back to Dean.

He rounded another corner and collided with someone headed the other way, knocking him back momentarily.

"Sorr-" he said reflexively, but the word died on his tongue as a hand clamped down on his shoulder. He looked up and the last bit of hope he hadn't known he had shattered.

He'd run into Gadreel.

The knight's other hand grabbed Castiel's wrist and spun him around, locking both arms behind his back. Cas twisted and tried to break free, but it was already too late.

Ion and the other knights had caught up.

The knights fanned out, creating a closed circle with Castiel at the center. Ishim glared murder at him, face an angry red where the pie had hit and blueberry filling staining all the way down the front of his tunic.

"Your Highness," Ion said, stepping forward and inclining his head in a mockery of respect. "Your mother has been very worried about you."

Castiel glared, for once not bothering to lower his eyes. Ion's expression flickered towards annoyance.

"You can tell her I'm fine," Castiel said. He tried to free his arms, but Gadreel's grip was like iron. "Let me go. Now."

"I'm afraid we can't," Ion said, not sounding sorry in the least. He stepped forward. "Your mother would like to confirm with her own two eyes that you are well, so you'll be coming-"

Ion stopped dead. His nostrils flared and he stared at Castiel in infuriated shock. Castiel glared, even as his stomach sank.

"You reek of alpha," Ion snarled. He seized a handful of Castiel's tunic and yanked sideways to reveal his neck, bending down and scenting him to confirm his suspicions without even the illusion of respect. Castiel struggled uselessly, baring his teeth in anger as Ion released him.

The knights all around them were murmuring to one another. Castiel ignored them, refusing to be cowed and refusing to lower his eyes like a good little omega.

"What of it?" he bit out. Ion's rage seemed to reach impossible new heights at the admission, no doubt thinking of what the Queen's reaction would be when she found out.

"Who?" Ion demanded.

"It's none of your business," Castiel snapped. Ion loomed over him, hands twitching like he longer for nothing more than to beat the answers and the backbone out of him.

Castiel could feel the eyes of the knights on him, judging and jeering. He felt naked and  _ known _ , but it was a completely different feeling than the one he'd had last night under Dean's warm gaze. There, he'd been appreciated. Wanted. Loved, even.

Here, he felt like a prime cut of meat found spoiled in the larder. 

"It's the Crown's business, and therefore mine," Ion snapped, almost shouting in Castiel's face. "Give me the name so the alpha can be brought to justice."

Castiel shut his mouth tightly and met Ion's stare directly, refusing to speak. Ion grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him as though to wiggle the answer loose.

"Was it the green-eyed alpha who accompanied you from Elbann?" Ion demanded. "Give me his  _ name _ ."

Castiel went cold.

He had no idea how the knights had found out about Dean, but all the more reason to keep them as far away from his alpha as possible.

"Oh, him," Castiel said, trying hard to keep his voice careless and casual. "We parted ways some days ago and I haven't seen him since. I never learned his name."

Ion's eyes narrowed.

"You expect me to believe that this  _ filth _ clinging to you isn't his work?" Ion said, quietly deadly. "Fine, then. Tell me who."

"If you're looking for a name, I don't have one," Cas said. "I didn't ask."

Castiel held his ground, keeping his chin up and defiant as the murmuring around the circle grew louder. Ion reared back.

"Just how many alphas have you defiled yourself with?" Ion demanded. Castiel shrugged.

"I lost count," he said. The knights burst into an uproar of noise, but Cas kept his eyes on Ion, praying the man believed him.

Let them think that Dean was simply one of many, a nameless, faceless alpha Castiel had no particular attachment to. If Dean was one in a long string of alphas, he was safe. Castiel alone would bear the consequences.

If Ion and the others had even an inkling of what Dean meant to him, they would not rest until they had found him. And if they hunted, they  _ would _ find him.

Dean's scent was all over Castiel's body. If Ion had the knights search every inn and tavern in Rhoads, looking for the owner of the scent, it was only a matter of time. 

Castiel's body was all the evidence they needed to condemn Dean and Castiel absolutely refused to let that happen.

If they found Dean, knowing how Castiel felt about him, they would kill him. They would kill him just to teach Castiel a lesson, though of course they'd couch it in other terms.

They would claim Dean had damaged the property of the Crown, say that Dean had bedded their prince by force or by trickery, and there would be no amount of begging or pleading Castiel could do to save him then.

Castiel had damned Dean just by touching him.

"Perhaps that is how our lord has been earning his living," Ishim jeered, just loud enough for everyone in the circle to hear clearly.

So be it.

If that was a story they would believe, that was the one Cas would tell. It galled him to reduce what he'd had with Dean to a simple  _ business transaction _ , but Castiel would've claimed to have whored himself out to half the town if it meant saving Dean's life.

He met Ishim's eyes coolly.

"So what of it?" he asked.

There was stunned silence for a moment. Ion was the first to regain his wits.

"Come along, your Highness," Ion snarled, turning on his heel and stalking in the direction of the gates. "Your mother will deal with you once we get to Haven."

The thought should have been terrifying. Naomi was not merciful at the best of times and she would be enraged when she found out what Castiel had done.

But all Cas could feel as the knights closed ranks around him and began marching him out of Rhoads, was relief.

The knights had believed him. Dean was safe.

Safe, and now forever out of Castiel's reach, without even a chance to say goodbye.

Castiel closed his eyes as his vision grew blurry, no longer caring where he was going or what consequences awaited him at the castle.

Not even an hour ago, the world had seemed so bright and full of possibility.

Now, reality had him in its icy grip, dragging him down, and Castiel wondered how he'd ever been so foolish as to think that happiness was a thing he'd be allowed to keep.

* * *

Ion led the group straight out of Rhoads. They attracted a few suspicious glances from the sparse crowds of people walking the street so early, but Castiel figured that was to be expected. Even without armor on or a banner flying, Ion and the knights had a very distinct military bearing. Castiel didn't doubt that most people they passed assumed he was some sort of criminal, or that he'd gotten mixed up with dangerous people.

No one was going to risk their neck for a stranger, not when they could tell themselves that he'd probably done something terrible and deserved whatever punishment his captors had planned for him.

Castiel had briefly hoped that the guards at the gate might notice something amiss and stop the knights for questioning, but Ion simply flashed the Queen's seal and they were let through immediately.

Castiel was marched towards a small copse of trees just off to the side of the road. Between the trunks, he could see movement, and realized the knights must have camped there to keep an eye on anyone going in or out of the gate.

He dully supposed it was better that he had been caught today as he wandered the market alone, rather than being caught tomorrow just outside of Rhoads with Dean at his side.

Two figures emerged from the treeline and headed for their little group. Even at a distance, Castiel recognized Uriel, Ion's second-in-command, and-

Balthazar.

"I see our quest was a success," Uriel said as he approached, a victorious smirk on his face. Castiel ignored him, instead focusing on Balthazar and wondering if he dared hope for any help from that quarter.

Balthazar looked wretched. Flickers of worry and relief and sorrow darted across his face as he looked Castiel up and down, apparently seeking out any injuries.

"Mostly a success," Ion said. He gestured and Castiel found himself unceremoniously shoved forward, stumbling on the uneven ground. "It seems our beloved prince is not quite so intact as we would have hoped."

Castiel gritted his teeth but swallowed the words on his tongue. He chanced a glance up, briefly catching Uriel's condescending delight and Balthazar's oddly stricken expression.

"Oh?" Uriel said. "The prince found himself a lover?"

"A patron, more like," Ishim said. He lifted Castiel's coin purse, having taken it from him on the walk over, and shook it to jingle the coins inside. "And likely not the only one the prince 'entertained', judging from this."

A few of the knights broke into cruel laughter, no doubt delighted by the idea of their omega upstart of a prince having to endure all sorts of debasement and degradation. They probably saw it as just punishment for having run away, Castiel assumed bitterly.

Balthazar, on the other hand, only looked horrorstruck.

"Regardless, our work here is done," Ion said. "Pack up camp and make ready to leave; we need to get the prince back to Haven immediately."

Uriel nodded and turned to escort the group the rest of the way to camp. As they cleared the trees, Castiel could see a small fire in the firepit, surrounded by bedrolls with some small game staked over it to roast. The horses were tethered to a series of trees at the far edge, close enough to the grass to graze as they pleased.

The knights dispersed upon arriving, each alpha heading to their own bedroll and bag and quickly packing up. Ion grabbed Castiel by the arm and escorted him none-too-gently to the fire before letting go.

"If my lord would sit," Ion said. Despite his phrasing, it was not a request. Castiel looked around, but the knights were still in a loose ring around him as they packed, each alpha keeping at least part of their attention on him lest he try to make a run for it.

He'd never make it to the treeline, let alone actually escape.

Castiel sat.

Ion nodded and walked off to get his own kit packed up. Castiel stared into the fire, lost in wordless thought, until a soft crunching of leaves next to him drew his attention. He looked, half-expecting it to be Ion or Uriel here to keep an eye on him, but found Balthazar instead.

"Balthazar," Cas said, smiling thinly. "Good to see you."

Despite the circumstances, anyway. Balthazar gave a weak attempt to smile back, but the skin around his eyes was tense and tight.

"Same to you, my lord," Balathazar said. "We were worried."

Unlike when Ion had expressed a similar sentiment earlier, Cas could tell that Balthazar had actually meant it. Balthazar wasn't speaking on supposed behalf of the Queen, who missed him as she might've missed a valuable jewel or tiara, but spoke for himself and possibly for Hannah as well, the only two people who saw Cas as a person rather than a bargaining chip.

Castiel sighed and looked away, back to the fire.

"You know why I couldn't tell you," he said in an undertone, meant for Balthazar's ears only. Balthazar nodded shortly, though the words didn't seem to comfort him.

"Are you all right?" Balthazar asked urgently. He seemed agitated, more so now than he had when Castiel had first appeared, though why Cas couldn't say.

Not sure how to respond, Cas made a noncommittal noise. He certainly wasn't fine, but he didn't want to say that and have Balthazar suggest something foolish. The two of them could not hope to take on the other knights and win, and Castiel wasn't about to let Balthazar sacrifice his life for what could only be a slim chance of escape.

"Castiel," Balthazar said. Castiel looked up, surprised. Balthazar rarely used his given name without an honorific attached, and in private his friend usually called him 'Cassie'.

Balthazar's expression was grim. His eyes went to the bruise on Castiel's neck and then back to his face. Balthazar took an audible breath before speaking.

"Please," he said. "Be honest with me, Cassie. Did someone-" His voice cut out and he coughed to clear his throat. "If anyone hurt you-"

All at once, Cas understood what Balthazar had been dancing around. He turned to face the knight fully, laying a hand on his shoulder to comfort him from whatever dark thoughts were racing through his mind.

"Balthazar, I'm fine," he said. "Nothing was done to me against my will, except being brought back here."

Balthazar looked at him searchingly and then, after a long moment, the anger and worry faded from his expression, leaving behind a fleeting, faint wistfulness.

"Good," Balthazar said shortly. He shook his head. "I mean, not that- but that you weren't-"

"I know," Cas said. Balthazar opened his mouth to say something else, but they were interrupted by a pointed cough. They both turned to look and find Ion standing there, staring down at them disapprovingly. The other knights had gathered their horses and stood in a semi-circle behind him.

"Time to go," Ion said. He turned to address the knights. "If we make good time, we can reach Haven in three days. Mirabel."

The knight in question stepped forward.

"Your horse should be able to handle the extra baggage," Ion said, indicating Castiel with a vague wave of his hand. "Mount up."

* * *

Dean figured he couldn't have dozed off for more than a few minutes at most, since Emmanuel hadn't yet returned.

He kept his eyes shut and nuzzled into the pillow, drifting half-asleep and half-awake. Today was an excellent day for being lazy in bed and he was pretty confident he could convince Em in that regard.

If Em still wanted to be around him after learning that Dean had, while not exactly lied, definitely been omitting some pretty important truths.

If Em even believed him.

'So, I'm actually a prince, heir to the throne in fact, and I've got a politically arranged marriage in like a month, but I really, really like you and want you to come back to my kingdom with me. The nobles will probably have a fit when I revive a centuries-dead court position just to keep you close, but I'm pretty sure my husband-to-be won't mind.'

It definitely didn't sound like something straight out of a minstrel's tale. Not a bit. Em would totally believe him instantly and they'd ride to Kanaan together.

Dean groaned and rolled onto his back, flinging an arm across his forehead like a princess in one of those selfsame minstrel's tales.

It was going to be a disaster. Forget Emmanuel believing him, he just had to hope Em wouldn't think he was insane.

He sighed and moved his arm, letting it drop to rest on the pillow above his head. He stared at the ceiling for a moment, lost in thought and trying to work up the courage for the impending conversation.

Something nagged at the back of his mind. Something seemed off about the room, but it took him several long minutes to figure out what.

The sun was definitely much higher in the sky than it should be. The angle and intensity of the light pouring into the room put the time close to midday.

Dean had been asleep for hours, not minutes, and Em should have been back a long time ago.

On the heels of that realization, Dean shot out of bed and began hunting for his clothes. 

He saw Emmanuel's bag in the corner, which instead of being a relief, made the dread pooling in his chest grow colder and deeper.

Em wouldn't have left it behind if he had known he wasn't coming back.

Dean practically ripped his clothes in his haste to get them on.

Something must have happened to Em, and Dean would be damned if he didn't find out what.


	8. Haven

Haven had never before looked so imposing. Castiel looked up at the gate as they passed underneath and, when the gate to the citadel closed behind them, he felt the sound as a reverberation in his chest.

Of course, he'd known it was unlikely he'd be able to escape the moment his mother's guards surrounded him in the marketplace. During their three-day ride back, he'd looked for opportunities, but Ion was careful and clever. There were always two knights keeping watch after dark, as much to deter bandits as to make sure Castiel didn't run off. It hadn't escaped Cas's notice that Balthazar was never one of the watchmen, and he could guess why. Balthazar was the only one of the group who might've helped Cas free himself, and apparently that was a likely enough scenario that he wasn't trusted to keep watch.

Their arrival back at the palace was met with little fanfare, but a flurry of activity as the knights rode into the courtyard. The stable hands rushed forward to take the horses from the knights, a few looking in askance at the cloaked and hooded figure riding with Ion on his horse.

The cloak both belonged to Ion and had been his idea, since the mark on Castiel's neck was still very visible. If any of the servants saw, everyone in Haven would know by sundown what their prince had been up to.

Ion pulled Castiel from the horse before he handed his gelding off to a servant and marched Castiel into the palace at speed. Castiel stumbled at first, legs unsteady after hours of riding, but far worse than that was the sensation of dozens of pairs of eyes watching him and the excited whisperings of the servants as they passed, speculating on who might be hiding under the hood.

He kept his head down as Ion, with his iron grip on Cas's arm, practically dragged Cas towards the heart of the palace.

Naomi's parlor.

The guards at the door hastily threw open the doors for Ion as he strode forward. Through the doorway, Castiel could see Naomi look up from her work, a faint scowl on her face at being interrupted, though the expression melted away when she saw who it was that had dared.

The doors shut behind Ion and Cas as soon as they had cleared them with a final sounding 'thud' not unlike the slam of a prison cell. 

"My queen," Ion said, dipping his head in a brief but respectful bow before yanking back the hood covering Castiel's face. "We have located your son."

Ion shoved the prince forward. Castiel kept his eyes down as he stumbled a few steps, as much from habit as from fear.

What would Naomi do to him once she realized what he had done? It was true that she had never used violence to discipline him before, but he had never disobeyed her so flagrantly before either.

She wouldn't kill him. That much he could trust, at least.

"Excellent work, Ion," Naomi said, setting down her quill. She rose from her chair and came around her desk, a pleased, if vicious, smile on her face. She drew closer and Castiel tensed, waiting.

Whatever happened to him, he couldn't find it in himself to regret his time with Dean. He remembered the warmth he'd felt, the love and the easy affection, and steadied himself with the memory as Naomi reached him.

He noticed the moment the smell hit her. She stopped, looking confused for a moment, and then her eyes landed on Castiel's neck.

"What have you  _ done _ ?" Naomi snarled, grabbing a fistful of Castiel's tunic and cloak and yanking to bare the bruise on his scent gland. She stared at the mark for a moment, fury radiating from her strong enough to choke on. Castiel flinched, but Naomi wasn't done.

"You selfish, impudent boy," she said. "After all I've done for you. The leniency I've granted you. The alpha I've arranged for you. And this is how you repay me?"

She released him and drew herself up to full height, staring down at him as though through looks alone she could reduce him to quivering ash. He had never seen his mother so angry. The air was thick with the scent of her rage and it turned his stomach, his flight or fight instinct going haywire.

A proper omega would have cowered. The delicate, meek little thing Naomi had tried to mold him into would have fallen at her feet and begged forgiveness. Castiel himself had acted the part of a penitent omega before, when faking contrition was the easiest way to calm his mother down.

But he would not apologize for this.

"What do you have to say for yourself?" Naomi demanded.

He had never been the omega his mother had wanted him to be. He never would be.

And he was  _ sick _ of pretending otherwise.

He slowly lifted his head, heart pounding. He kept going past the point of decorum, past insolence, until he was looking his mother directly in the face for the first time since he had presented.

To his shock, he actually had to look down to meet her eyes. For so long she had seemed to him to be a towering figure, larger than life simply because of the power she wielded over him.

But Naomi, for all that she was his alpha, mother, and queen, was shorter and more slender than he.

"I made my own choices," Castiel said clearly, holding Naomi's dumbfounded gaze.

The room was shocked silent. For a moment, nobody dared breathe.

The backhand slap, when it came, didn't hurt as much as Castiel had expected it would. His head turned with the blow, his cheek stinging in pain, but it all felt strangely muted. Unimportant, really, and when the ringing in his ears had faded he coolly turned his head to look his mother in the eyes again.

Naomi was apoplectic, face red with rage and hand still raised from when she'd struck him. Castiel just stared at her, neither speaking nor backing down.

Naomi broke first.

"Ion," she snarled. The knight snapped to attention, seizing Castiel's arm roughly. 

Cas felt a moment of trepidation, wondering if Naomi might order him flogged or whipped, but all Naomi did was turn on her heel and stomp back to her desk, barking out her orders.

"Have the servants draw him a bath. Perfumed water," she said. "I want that  _ stench _ gone. Confine him to his room. I want no one to see him until that mark on his neck has cleared up, am I understood?"

"Yes, your Majesty," Ion said, bowing hurriedly, then wrenched Castiel around with bruising force and dragged him out of the room.

Naomi didn't turn to look at them once. 

* * *

The servants bustled about his room, quickly bringing the tub and buckets upon buckets of hot water to fill it. They all pointedly avoided looking at the corner window where Castiel sat, too afraid of whatever punishment Ion had threatened them with to let curiosity get the better of them.

Ion himself stood between the prince and the servants, arms crossed and glaring imposingly to get the men to work faster and get out so Castiel's isolation could begin.

Castiel didn't bother speaking, just stared blankly out the window, drained and tired. His cheek felt warm where Naomi had slapped him, and he was sore from days of riding, but none of it mattered. Nothing did.

When the servants had finished their task and left the room, Ion finally turned to Castiel.

"My lord," he said, his tone making the honorific into an insult. "Your bath is ready."

Castiel glanced over. The tub was faintly steaming, the air reeking of the floral perfume his mother preferred, and Castiel supposed one of the servants must have added a bottle of the stuff to the bathwater before leaving. A small table was set up next to the bathtub, a basket of soaps and scrubs set within easy reach and a soft towel draped over the edge.

Castiel felt grimy and dirty from travel, and he was sure he stank from more than just the sex. The bath he'd had in Rhoads felt like a lifetime ago, not a few short days.

He also had less than zero desire to wash.

He was about to turn back to the window when Ion, impatient, grabbed him by the shoulders and leaned in menacingly.

"You will get into that bath or I will strip you and toss you in myself," Ion hissed. Castiel could tell that the knight was deadly serious.

"Fine," he said, shaking off Ion's hold. The knight stepped back to allow Castiel to stand and stood there, glaring, as Castiel walked over to the tub. Once there, Castiel paused, waiting, but Ion made no move towards the door.

"Shouldn't you be leaving?" Castiel asked, voice just shy of turning it into an order. He wasn't sure Ion would obey if he made it one anyway.

"I am to make sure you bathe properly," Ion said, not moving. Castiel glared.

"I am not taking a bath with an alpha in the room," he said flatly, facing Ion directly. Even from a distance, he could see the way Ion clenched his teeth.

"And I am not leaving until I am certain you will obey," Ion said.

They stood in cold silence for a minute, neither willing to back down, until a knock at the door interrupted.

"Prince Castiel?"

Castiel knew that voice.

"Come in, Hannah," he said before Ion could forbid her, loud enough to be heard through the door. He heard the door fly open, followed by Hannah's quick footsteps and a gasp as though she couldn't believe that Castiel was really, truly there.

"My lord, I-" she said, and then she noticed Ion. "Sir Ion."

Ion rounded on her, advancing as though to chase her out of the room.

"The prince is not well," he snapped. "He isn't to have any visitors-"

"Am I expected to get my own food from the kitchens?" Castiel asked. "Clean out my own chamberpot? Or do  _ you _ plan on doing Hannah's duties for her, Ion?"

Ion paused, glaring first at Castiel, then at his terrified maidservant.

"See to it that he bathes," Ion growled. "And if I hear any talk amongst the servants, it'll be your head, Hannah."

"Yes, sir," Hannah said, dipping into a low curtsey that she held until long after Ion had stormed out of the room and slammed the door.

After Ion's footsteps had finally faded, Hannah recovered herself. She rushed to Castiel's side, stopping just short of running into him. Her eyes were wide and a mix of emotions crossed her face; relief, concern, happiness, and sorrow.

Castiel mustered up a smile for her, hoping to put her mind at ease.

"Hello, Hannah," he said. His maidservant's eyes welled with tears and she made an aborted move as if to embrace him, but wasn't sure she was allowed. Castiel pulled her into a hug instead and let her hold him, let her know that he was really back.

"My lord, what  _ happened _ ?" Hannah asked. Castiel shook his head and pulled back.

"It's a long story," he said, looking away. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hannah's gaze dart to his neck, surprise washing over her, and he turned towards the bath. "I should bathe before Ion gets back or he's threatened to throw me in himself."

"Do you need help?" Hannah asked automatically, used to Castiel needing her help with the many laces and buttons of omega court dress.

Castiel looked down at what he wore, the far more practical and far less complicated clothing of the common folk. For a moment, he had a sense memory of Dean's hands sliding up under his tunic, pulling it off over his head. He shut his eyes briefly against the sting and pushed the memory away.

"No, that won't be necessary," he said. Hannah bobbed her head in uncertain agreement and then hesitated. She studied him for a moment, but Castiel wouldn't meet her eyes.

"Are you all right?" she asked. Castiel didn't answer.

He unfastened the cloak that Ion had forced him to wear and handed it to Hannah. She took it, still staring worriedly at him.

If she was waiting on him to speak, she would have a long wait.

Castiel numbly stripped himself, handing each article of clothing to Hannah for later laundering. Her concern grew more palpable with each new bruise she saw on his skin, until at last Castiel was bare and climbing into the bath. Realizing he wasn't going to speak, Hannah couldn't help herself.

"Prince Castiel?" she asked, a million questions in her voice. Castiel looked at her and saw the same worry and fear he'd seen on Balthazar's face on the day the knights had captured him.

He touched a hand to the mark on his neck, dragging his fingertips over it gently as though it were something precious. His eyes stung and he looked away from Hannah.

"He was... a good man," Castiel said, voice low but thick with feeling. He couldn't speak any further, the words to describe exactly what Dean was eluding him and the need for secrecy stilling his tongue.

Hannah's expression melted into one of understanding and sympathy. She dropped to her knees beside the tub.

"I'm so sorry, Castiel," she said.

Castiel nodded jerkily, feeling his eyes burn. Hannah's sympathy had burst something inside him, and all of a sudden it was too much. The loss of Dean, of his freedom, being trapped in this place again when he had thought he was finally free from his mother's control, knowing that both she and her knights would be ten times more watchful to make sure he didn't escape again...

All the emotions he'd been repressing since his capture boiled to the surface with a vengeance and there, in the privacy of his room, with Hannah's comforting presence the only witness, he broke down.

Castiel crossed his arms over his knees and wept.

* * *

Emmanuel was gone.

Dean had stayed for two more days, hoping against hope Em would turn up, but nothing. Dean had spent the daylight hours scouring Rhoads for any sign of him, but nobody seemed to know much, and what he had heard was not reassuring.

The morning Em had disappeared, there had been a commotion in the marketplace involving a large group of mercenary-looking strangers and a man matching Em's description. Rumors abounded as to the reason for the scuffle, but nobody seemed to have any facts; if they did, they weren't willing to talk.

The one thing eyewitnesses did seem to agree on was that the man had known his abductors and had gone with them without much protest, basically ruling out the possibility of the strangers being slavers or an execution squad. Emmanuel hadn't struggled as they walked him towards the gates, and if he'd known he was going to be sold into slavery or killed, why wouldn't he have fought tooth and nail to get away?

Nobody knew where they had gone from there. Some people speculated that the man must have gotten mixed up with bandits, or he'd gravely offended a nobleman, or that he was a war criminal on the run and his past misdeeds had finally caught up with him.

Dean had wanted to laugh, to tell them all that they were crazy, that Em would never and wasn't like that, but slowly realized that he didn't know enough about Em to refute any of it.

Dean hadn't even known that Em was being hunted, though if the people in the market that day were to be believed, Em had known, or had at least been expecting it. Emmanuel hadn't even warned Dean that staying with him could be dangerous, and while Dean might've understood his hesitation at first, he'd thought they had grown closer than that.

Had Emmanuel not trusted him? Did he simply not care what happened to Dean?

Each possibility hurt more than the last.

Worst of all were the rumors about Em being the disobedient son of a nobleman who made a game of running from his guards and seeing how far he could get before they caught him. It was all idle speculation, made up by those who loved nothing more than to gossip, but it made Dean uneasy. He had thought Emmanuel might be nobility, and he had more reason than most to be familiar with nobles. Had everything just been some sort of game made up by the scion of a wealthy, powerful family to pass the time? 

Had Dean been nothing more than a brief diversion?

Had any of it meant anything to Emmanuel at all?

The thoughts plagued Dean as he rode back to Lawrens, Emmanuel's pack strung up with the rest of Dean's things out of a foolish hope that Dean would see him again, and that Em would have an explanation when he did. One that made sense, that didn't hinge on Emmanuel not bothering to return to the room because he hadn't left anything of value behind.

He put the thought out of his mind as he approached the castle, instead turning his thoughts to the chewing out he'd definitely be treated to as soon as his parents realized he was back. He'd been gone almost twice as long as he'd said he would and if they had sent Benny or another one of the knights to find him at the hunting cabin when he hadn't returned on time, they'd know he hadn't been where he promised he'd be.

Well, he'd made his decisions. He could bear the consequences.

He looked towards the horizon, where he could see Lawrens silhouetted against the sky. The dying rays of sunlight painted the lower town and the imposing castle wall in purples and golds, with tiny pinpricks of flickering light showing windows to homes whose occupants were still awake. Including, Dean noted, quite a few windows of the castle.

He sighed and hung his head.

"I'm in so much trouble," he told Chevy.

Chevy just whickered in agreement and carried on.

* * *

Castiel stayed in the bath until the water grew cold around him. Reluctantly, he stepped out of the tub and dried himself off with the towel Hannah had left for him before she'd gone to launder his clothes and fetch her things from the communal dorm the laundresses shared, feeling at once clean and very, very lonely.

Once the marks Dean had left on him faded, there would be no trace of the alpha with him anymore.

He dragged his feet to the door to his room, grabbing a simple robe from over the back of a chair as he went. He pulled it on and tied it closed as he poked his head out of his room and let the attending knights know to call the servants to take the bath away.

That done, he shut the door and retreated to the windowsill, looking out over Haven. The city was bustling, and he did have a magnificent view, but he'd never felt more trapped.

As they did so often in the days since he had been recaptured, his thoughts turned to Dean. What was Dean doing now? Did he resent 'Emmanuel' for not returning, or had it been a relief?

Had Dean waited, hoping for him to return, only to be disappointed?

The door to his room burst open, breaking him from his thoughts. He turned, heart pounding, only to see his mother with Missouri, the court physician, following behind her.

"You're clean. Excellent," Naomi said. She turned to Missouri, a beta woman with dark skin and curly hair pulled back in a poof at the top of her head. "Make sure my son's folly hasn't ruined him."

"Yes, your Majesty," Missouri said. She gave Castiel a warm smile and, despite himself, Cas found himself marginally relaxing. Missouri had been the court physician for as long as Castiel could remember and had been the one to tend to him in the rare times he was injured or ill. It had always been her capable hands, not Naomi's, that spread salve on his bruises and laid bandages on his cuts.

"Prince Castiel," she said respectfully, setting a heavy leather bag on the table while Naomi waited impatiently behind her. "I have a few tests I'd like to run, but to do that I'll need a sample."

Castiel glanced towards his mother, but she didn't even look at him, apparently determined to ignore not only his earlier outburst but his entire existence.

That suited Castiel just fine.

"A sample?" he asked Missouri. She handed him a glass fashioned with a short spout at one end.

"Of urine," she said. Castiel nodded and took the glass, then disappeared behind his changing screen to do as he was bid. He emerged from behind the screen and gave the full glass back to Missouri, who had spent the minutes setting up a few different tests. She had a glass of wine, a few shallow dishes of ground herbs, and a dish containing a white rag that had been soaked in something and then dried, though Castiel couldn't tell what.

Missouri poured a little liquid from the glass into each receptacle. She stirred each in turn, seemingly unaffected by Naomi's stare boring into her, then took the glass of urine and poured some onto the rag.

  
  


Missouri made little noises while she worked, little 'hm's and 'ah's that did nothing for Castiel's nerves. Naomi seemed to be in a similar state, tapping her foot anxiously as Missouri serenely looked from one test to the next, noting the reactions each of her mixtures had had with Castiel's urine.

Finally, Naomi could take it no longer.

"Well?" she demanded. Missouri looked at her.

"I see no early signs of illness, your Majesty, though if the prince feels unwell in the next few weeks-"

"Is he pregnant?" Naomi snapped.

Pregnant.

Castiel hadn't even thought about pregnancy. He'd taken no measures against it, and though he hadn't been in heat Dean  _ had  _ knotted him. For a moment, his heart sped, though whether it was with fear or longing he couldn't tell.

Missouri looked towards the glass of wine, the color of which had changed to something deeper and richer. The physician looked at Castiel for a moment, then smiled reassuringly and looked back at Naomi.

"There's nothing at all amiss with the Prince, my queen," Missouri said. "No lasting ill-effects."

Naomi sighed, wearily satisfied with the answer, while Castiel was surprised to feel a small, sharp jab of disappointment.

Not pregnant, then. He dully supposed he would be soon enough, with his wedding less than a month away, but any future children would be born for duty, not for love.

It didn't matter, anyway.

If he had turned out to be pregnant with Dean's child, Naomi would never have let him keep it.

  
  



	9. Reunion

Dean slumped his way into his room and collapsed into his bed, weary to the marrow.

He had, as expected, caused a huge uproar the moment he'd wandered into the castle courtyard on Chevy's back. There had been shouting, tearful proclamations of his return, and of course, one of the servants had run immediately to fetch the king and queen.

Once the relief of his safe return had worn off, John had been utterly furious over Dean's 'stupidity and selfishness'. It had been irresponsible, going off without a word to places unknown, especially with the wedding so soon; what had Dean been  _ thinking _ ?!

Dean had taken the tongue-lashing, made his apologies, and then retreated to his room, citing exhaustion from the trip. He knew he hadn't heard the end of it, though, not by a long shot.

All he'd wanted was a week to himself, to  _ be _ himself, before he spent the rest of his life living as an example to the people with his every waking moment dedicated to their service. He'd just been a little late getting back.

It had been too much to ask.

A knock at his door interrupted his thoughts. He sighed, debating the merits of pretending to be asleep, when the door opened and a familiar head of shaggy hair peeked in.

"Dean?" Sam asked quietly, as if trying not to wake him. Dean reluctantly pushed himself up to a sitting position and turned to face the door, forcing a smile onto his face.

"Hiya, Sammy," he said. Sam walked in and closed the door behind himself, hurrying over and wrapping Dean in a tight hug. Dean let out a low 'oof' and hugged Sam back, feeling a little lighter at the proof that one family member, at least, was just happy he was back safely.

"Welcome back," Sam said. He let go and sat back on Dean's bed.

"Good to be back," Dean said, which wasn't entirely a lie. Sam looked worriedly at him, checking for injuries, but once satisfied that Dean wasn't hurt, he looked into Dean's face once more with such honest concern it was physically painful.

"Dean, what happened?"

Dean shrugged and looked away. 

"You know me," he said with a touch of bitterness. "Lost track of time drinking and fucking my way through anyone who looked at me twice. Not like I care what happens to the people or the kingdom if the treaty fails, after all."

Sam winced.

"Dad really was worried," he said lamely. Dean shrugged again and made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat.

"How was your trip?" Sam asked when the silence had stretched on for too long.

"Fine," Dean lied. Sam studied him closely, worry deepening the lines in his forehead.

"You're not fine," Sam said. "What is it?"

Dean didn't have an answer for him. How did you explain what felt like a lifetime of knowing someone after only a few days? 

"Can we just... not do this right now?" Dean asked. His heart still ached, his head too full with questions and what-might-have-beens. Dean wouldn't call it love, not just yet, but there had been  _ something _ between himself and Emmanuel. Something warm, something that could last if given a little time and attention.

At least, he'd thought. Maybe he'd been the only one.

Em had sure left easily enough.

Dean just needed a few days and then he could go back to his old swagger, his heartbreaker smile, and pretending that everything really was fine.

"Dean, talk to me?" Sam pleaded.

Dean let out a long, noisy breath.

Sam just couldn't leave well enough alone, could he?

"Met someone," he said, trying to make it sound like it wasn't a big deal. Because it wasn't, not to anybody else. Sam kept looking at him, a touch of confusion on his brow.

"And...?" Sam asked slowly. He cleared his throat. "Benny and I, uh... we kinda figured you'd gone out to 'meet' several someones."

"That was the plan," Dean said. He waved a hand vaguely. "Last few weeks as a single alpha and all that."

Sam nodded. Silence fell as he waited for Dean to continue.

"What happened?" Sam prompted again, more gently. Dean looked towards the window, out at the blue, blue sky, and then immediately looked away again. "Dean?"

"Like I said, met someone," Dean said. "You would've liked him. Smart, great fighter, gorgeous..."

"An alpha?" Sam guessed. Dean laughed dryly and shook his head.

"An omega," he said. "Didn't know that when I met him, though."

Sam nodded, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"You liked him?" Sam asked, more to prompt Dean to continue than any real uncertainty.

"You could say that," Dean said. He'd more than 'liked' Emmanuel, but that just made it all the more painful that Em was gone. Had left without even a word. "Doesn't matter now, though."

"Because of the treaty?" Sam guessed. He plowed forward without waiting for Dean to respond, voice rising in his excitement. "I know you don't want to go through with the marriage, but maybe this is the answer! If you tell Dad that you found an omega-"

Dean snorted.

"Oh yeah, that'll go over well," he said scornfully. "'Hey Dad, I found an omega who might be the love of my life out on the road, is it cool if I take him as my mate and break the treaty with Elysium?'"

Dead silence followed.

"Dean," Sam said, stunned and sympathetic. Only then did Dean realize what he'd said. He winced, biting his lip and brutally shoving the 'l' word in a heavy chest and locking it.

"It doesn't matter anyway," Dean said, turning away from Sam. "He left."

"Maybe he didn't want to?" Sam asked, though he sounded more doubtful with each word. "Like, maybe someone forced him to leave. Or something happened."

"I don't know, Sam," Dean said. If he was being honest with himself, he was sick of talking about it. He was sick of thinking about it. Whatever had happened, whatever the reason, Emmanuel was gone and Dean wouldn't see him again.

And in a month, he'd be married to a simpering, traditionalist son-of-a-bitch who probably wouldn't even look at him.

* * *

Castiel leaned over the chamber pot again, clutching his stomach as he heaved. It was the third time that week he'd found himself in this same position, on his knees next to his bed, the nausea making his head swim.

Hannah knelt next to him, her hands fluttering worriedly as Cas tried to breathe and calm his insides. At first he'd thought it might have been something he ate, the rich castle food a far cry from the peasant fare he'd been eating for the past month, but the sickness had only started this week and he'd been back at the castle, locked in his room, for three. He had no fever nor any other signs of illness, but the nausea had been a near-constant, unwelcome companion for days now. He'd thought about calling for Missouri, but she'd been dealing with an illness in the lower town and he hadn't wanted to call her back to the palace for a little bit of vomit.

The medicinal tea she'd given him the day after she'd run her tests wasn't helping either. He drank it religiously three times a day, since she'd said it would help stave off illness, but it didn't seem to be working.

"What's  _ wrong _ with me," he asked miserably, not really expecting any sort of answer. Hannah was quiet for a moment, then laid her hand on his shoulder.

"My lord," Hannah said hesitantly, rubbing Castiel's back in a soothing manner. Cas made an inquisitive noise, too miserable and sick to pick his head up.

"Is there a possibility... maybe Missouri was wrong?" Hannah asked, her voice dropping to a low whisper. Castiel stared at her for a moment, uncomprehending, and with a strained voice, she continued. "Could you be pregnant?"

Castiel felt as though he'd been struck.

"Not possible," he said. Missouri wasn't the royal physician for nothing; there was no doctor more skilled in the art of medicine, no herbalist more knowledgeable, no alchemist more exacting. "Missouri said-"

And then he stopped himself, thinking back to that day.

Missouri hadn't actually said he wasn't pregnant. Rather, she'd said there was nothing wrong with him and that there would be no lasting negative effects, but that hardly ruled out pregnancy. Naomi had simply heard what she'd wanted to hear.

He looked down at himself, at the hand clutching his belly to ward off the nausea, and felt suddenly dizzy with possibility.

"Castiel?"

Cas realized that his breathing had quickened. He gulped air, striving for calm.

Pregnant.

He might have managed to keep a piece of Dean with him after all.

"My lord... there are herbs," Hannah said carefully. "It's still early enough, I could-"

"No," Castiel said sharply, curling his arm around his belly as if to protect it.

Enough had been taken from him. He would not lose this, too. 

"But, my lord-"

"I'll be married within a fortnight," Castiel said, not meeting Hannah's eyes. "The child could be my husband's."

The timeline would be close enough. People would assume his husband had gotten him pregnant on their wedding night. As long as nobody else found out about the pregnancy, no one need ever know the child's true parentage.

It did fill Castiel with a bitter satisfaction to think that one day, the bastard child of a commoner would be heir to the throne of Kanaan. 

"At least let me call for Missouri," Hannah said pleadingly.

"Don't," he said, shaking his head. "If word got back to my mother... she wouldn't allow it."

All it would take was a word from her to the head of the kitchens and Castiel could find his next meal spiked with the herbs Hannah had alluded to moments ago. Even if the pregnancy was just a possibility rather than a certainty at this point, Naomi wouldn't take a chance.

Castiel couldn't let that happen.

He rested a hand on his belly and for a moment, dreamed of a better world, one where he had been allowed to love freely and the revelation of a pregnancy would have been cause for joy.

Not fear.

* * *

The days passed all too quickly. In what felt like the blink of an eye, Castiel's things were packed and preparations were finished for the royal procession to Lawrens.

Naomi had elected to travel in a carriage separate from Castiel, at least for the bulk of the journey. They'd have to arrive at the castle together for appearances' sake. Cas couldn't find it in himself to be surprised, since she'd refused to so much as look at or acknowledge him since he'd stood up to her.

In a way, it was a relief. He'd been avoiding his mother ever since Hannah had suggested that he might indeed be pregnant, and Naomi's avoidance of him only made his task easier.

He kept himself secluded for the majority of the trip, hiding in his carriage and staring out the window. With the marriage now real, in a way it hadn't been before, he found himself anxiously wondering what kind of alpha Naomi had gifted him to.

Would he be the traditional sort the way most of the nobility tended to be? Would he expect Castiel to constantly bow and scrape, expect demurely lowered eyes and submission?

Would Castiel be allowed to keep Hannah? He didn't expect Balthazar would be permitted to stay; he'd only been given Balthazar as a bodyguard because they had been childhood friends, but what alpha would permit another so near their omega?

Did he dare hope for private chambers of his own? A place he might be able to be himself, without having to worry that he might offend someone? Or would he be expected to live in his alpha's chambers and be forced to play at being the perfect omega every hour for the rest of his life?

Was the Crown Prince the sort of alpha who believed that any rebellious omegas simply needed a firm hand? Would he demand that Castiel be broken the first time Castiel showed that he had a mind of his own?

Halfway through the weeklong journey to Lawrens, he knew that he didn't dare risk it.

"My lord..." Hannah whispered quietly to him one night, voice so soft he almost couldn't hear over the squeak of the carriage wheels. "Your scent... it's changing."

Castiel couldn't breathe. It was a confirmation of all his hopes and his worst fears.

"When did it start?" he asked.

Had anyone else noticed?

"I only realized earlier today," Hannah said. "And then only because I know your scent and was watching for it to change."

It was certain, then. He was definitely pregnant.

Elation and terror gripped his heart and he didn't realize his breathing had quickened until Hannah laid her hand on his shoulder, peering into his face worriedly.

Until he had sussed out exactly what kind of man he was being given to, he couldn't risk punishment. He wasn't afraid of being beaten or whipped, not for his own sake, but if the stress on his body caused a miscarriage...

He could deal with pain. In his mind, the ability to be himself and act like a person was worth any pain his alpha could dish out.

But he'd be damned before his mouth cost the life of his unborn child. It wasn't as though he could claim pregnancy to lessen his punishment, either; definitely not before the wedding, and not for a few weeks after, when it would be believable that he'd noticed signs.

He just had to wait until then.

* * *

Dean stood atop the palace steps, squinting in the sun and tugging at his uncomfortable court clothes. The brocade jacket was heavy and confining, the fine boots not nearly as broken in and comfortable as his hunting boots, and his crown was already giving him a headache.

Still. Appearances.

He stifled a yawn. His mother, standing next to him on the steps, shot him a sharp look.

"You should have gotten more sleep," she chastised him. "They'll be here any minute now."

"I tried," Dean said shortly. It wasn't his fault he'd been tossing and turning all night, unable to sleep as thoughts of  _ this _ moment plagued him.

He didn't know the first thing about his husband-to-be, save his name and designation. Apparently all that mattered about 'Prince Castiel' was that he was a royal omega; nobody had asked about his personality, his hobbies if he had any, or hell, even his age beyond 'old enough to bear children?'

Dean had no idea what kind of person he was about to be shackled to for the rest of his life. Maybe he'd get lucky and the omega would be pleasant company, not just in bed. Maybe the omega would have something of a personality beneath all the 'proper manners' he'd supposedly been taught. Maybe Dean would be able to coax a real opinion or thought out of him every once in a while, maybe the omega would be someone he'd eventually be able to talk to and confide in and discuss state matters with.

And maybe John would have a sudden change of heart and declare that the wedding was off, Dean was free to choose someone he loved as a spouse, someone who wasn't just a delicate, sweet confection of a person. Someone with meat to them, someone who didn't crack those times Dean needed a person to lean on.

Dean dully supposed that, if he was wishing for impossible things anyway, he may as well wish for Emmanuel to show up on a white horse and whisk him away to places unknown, somewhere duty and responsibility didn't weigh so heavily on him and he could just... be.

Dean's attention was drawn from his thoughts by the sound of hooves on cobblestone. He looked up to see a single rider, a herald with a long feather in his hat, riding in on a dark chestnut horse, followed closely by a small group of knights in ceremonial armor. The knights rode horseback as well, followed by two palominos drawing a golden carriage behind them. The carriage was followed by yet more knights, their armor gleaming brightly in the sun.

As soon as the last horse was through the gate, the entire group stopped as one unit. Dean barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. This was why he hated court; everything had to be a spectacle.

The herald got off his horse and came to stand by the carriage, chest puffed out and a look of great self-importance on his face. He stood in front of the door and unrolled an unnecessarily large scroll as the footmen scrambled to get to the doors of the carriage.

"Announcing the arrival of her royal Majesty, Queen Naomi of Elysium!" the herald said. The footmen opened the carriage door and out stepped a severe-looking alpha woman wearing a dove-grey gown, heavily embroidered and embellished with pearl-white threads. An elegant crown of silver and pearl rested atop her tightly pulled back red-blonde hair. She moved away from the carriage door, head held high, as the footmen rushed in behind her to help a second figure out of the carriage.

"And her son, his royal highness, Prince Castiel!" 

The person the footmen were helping out of the carriage was dressed all in white, Dean noticed. White trousers, white shirt, white knee-length coat. His hair was dark and there was a delicate silver circlet on his head.

And that... was all Dean could see of his future husband. The prince kept his head down as he was led to his place just behind the Queen. Dean heaved a mental sigh.

The future was starting to look pretty damn lonely.

As the visiting royals ascended the stairs, the wind shifted. The Queen's scent reminded Dean of nothing more than damp stones, her alpha designation giving the scent a musky undertone, and she wore some kind of floral perfume Dean didn't recognize. The prince's scent was-

-an autumn forest.

Dean breathed in sharply, staring at the prince's bowed head. Sam shot him a concerned look, but Dean's world had narrowed to the figure standing next to the Queen.

It couldn't be. His mind had to be playing tricks on him; he'd longed for Emmanuel so much that his brain had conjured him up and he was having some sort of fit or fever dream. The prince couldn't be further from Dean's one-time lover; he was all deferentially bowed head and submissive posture. There was none of the fire that had so attracted Dean to Emmanuel.

But his  _ scent _ -

"We welcome our friends from the east, especially on such a joyous occasion as this," John said loudly, pulling Dean forcefully back to the present. John gave a brief but respectful bow to the Queen, who returned it with a small curtsey of her own, mouth smiling but her eyes cold.

"The pleasure is ours, King John," Naomi said. There were more words exchanged, ritualistic greetings and agreements mostly for the benefit of propriety, but Dean had already tuned them out again.

He was staring fixedly at the prince, who stood silent and still behind his mother as she spoke for both of them. There was no tension to his shoulders, no anger to the curve of his jaw.

This couldn't be the Emmanuel Dean knew, even if the scent was the same. It simply couldn't.

Dean had almost convinced himself of that when Queen Naomi instructed the omega to lift his head. Why, Dean couldn't have said, unless it was to give him a better view of his prize.

There was no mistaking that face.

Even though Emmanuel kept his eyes averted, careful not to look any of the alphas present in the face, Dean would've known him anywhere.

His heart made an aborted leap in his chest, mind whirling with questions he didn't have answers to.

Who was Emmanuel, really? Why was he acting like this?

Why had he left?

And, quite suddenly, Dean wasn't sure he wanted to know the answers.

Despite the heat and the heavy clothing he was wearing, he felt suddenly cold. He'd thought he  _ knew _ Emmanuel, had even thought he was falling in love with him, but he could never have imagined Em acting the way the prince was doing now. It was laughable, a funnier joke than anything Dean had ever heard before, but somehow Dean didn't feel like laughing.

What was Emmanuel really like? Was he the fiery, stubborn man Dean had met on the road? Or was he the quiet, doll-like Prince?

Or was he something else altogether, that let him play both roles equally convincingly?

Had Dean ever really known him at all, or had 'Emmanuel' just been a role for a bored prince to play? Had the people of Rhoads been right, though instead of Em being a noble's son, he was a prince and had made a game of assuming different guises to seduce alphas before being found and returned home?

Had anything Dean had shared with him, any moment he'd so treasured, actually been real? Or had it all been a lark, something to look back on and laugh at how thoroughly smitten Dean had been?

An elbow poked him in the ribs and he looked at Sam, whose worried look had only intensified.

"You okay?" he mouthed.

"Fine," Dean hissed back. He was saved from further questioning by the end of the welcoming ceremony and the opening of the large wooden doors that led into the castle.

He spun on his heel, turning his back on his brother, the visiting queen, and his husband-to-be, marching into the castle and towards the great hall. A feast had been laid out to welcome the Elysians, and at least there would be pie.

Dean felt a stab at that and growled under his breath.

He refused to let memories of an apple pie and a surprised smile take pie away from him. Fruit pie had been his thing long before he'd introduced Emmanuel to it.

Lost in angry, hurt musings and deliberately not-thinking thoughts, he completely missed the momentarily unguarded look of shocked longing and pain aimed at his back before Castiel quickly schooled his features into neutrality once more.

  
  



	10. Truth

The feast was grand, as befitting a royal welcome. There was all manner of roasts and meats and freshly-baked breads and vegetables, all in portions large enough to feed a man for days.

Castiel tasted none of it. The savory flesh turned to ash in his mouth and all the wine to stagnant water. Each morsel of bread was little more than chalk on his tongue.

When he'd first realized that Dean was the supposed crown prince, he'd been shocked. Overjoyed, but shocked and filled with questions. For a moment, he'd been dizzy with relief, wondering if he was hallucinating, but he'd thought of Dean's face so many times that he knew it almost better than his own. The freckles, the laugh lines around his eyes, the fullness of his lips...

He'd thought that perhaps the universe had decided to be kind for once, that his husband-to-be was a man he was already more than half in love with, an alpha who didn't see omegas as lesser beings simply for their ability to carry children.

But the crown prince he'd met was so cold.

Crown Prince Dean hadn't acknowledged him on the steps, even though Castiel was sure he'd been recognized. Dean hadn't looked at nor spoken a word to him the entire meal, despite being sat right next to him. He engaged in easy enough conversation with Naomi, who had never minded talking over Castiel as if he wasn’t there, and Naomi's proximity meant Cas didn't dare speak unless spoken to, didn't dare stare at Dean and will him to say something, to give him some sign that he remembered and was happy to see him again.

Normally, he was quite good at bending the rules governing omega behavior in public, toeing just this side of propriety, but he couldn't risk it. Not today.

If he'd thought Dean would defend him, he might've taken the leap. But this Dean was so unlike the one he'd met in the forest, the one he'd traveled with to Elbann and then to Rhoads, the one he'd been forced to abandon in order to save his life.

He wasn't sure if this Dean would listen to him and quietly understand, or if he would have Castiel whipped for his audacity. That uncertainty scared Castiel more than anything else, especially since he'd thought he knew Dean.

The Dean he'd loved had been kind and warm and generous, and it hurt to think that that Dean may not actually exist. It seemed uniquely cruel of the universe to send him  _ here _ , where every day he'd be forced to live a mockery of what could have been, with someone who seemed furious that Castiel was to be his spouse.

Had Dean's warmth been nothing more than a lure, a seduction so subtle Castiel hadn't been able to predict or guard against it? Had Dean been planning on revealing his true nature when Castiel came back with breakfast and leave him abandoned in Rhoads, having taken everything he'd wanted from Cas?

Had Castiel been a challenge, a conquest, simply because he had admitted to being inexperienced? Had Dean decided that night that he'd make Castiel his, just because?

Was Dean now furious that his husband-to-be was not the virgin he was being presented as? Castiel knew perfectly well what his blindingly white clothes were meant to signify; he was pure, he was untouched, he was perfect.

Did Dean think of him as a less valuable trophy because of it?

Castiel supposed bitterly that Dean wouldn't be the first alpha to want different things out of a conquest than a mate. Maybe a headstrong omega was a worthy challenge, but for a mate Dean wanted someone more traditional and submissive, especially as he was to be king one day.

It was a relief when the feast finally ended. Dean vanished almost immediately, which Castiel took as a rather depressing omen of what to expect from their marriage.

He followed a servant to the room he'd been given, barely paying attention to his surroundings. By the next evening, he'd be wed and would be expected to stay with the prince, at least for the night. Then perhaps he'd be moved again, somewhere Dean wouldn't have to look at him.

Castiel entered the room and found Hannah already unpacking his things for the evening. The servants had taken the back route into the castle, not wanting to spoil Naomi's grand entrance, and Castiel felt weak with relief.

Impossible to know what tomorrow would bring, but at least for tonight, he had a friend.

* * *

Dean couldn't take it anymore.

Dinner had been the most awkward meal he'd ever had in his life, and that included the dinner right after John had found out that Dean's sexual preferences weren't limited to people who could bear his children. The Queen had been polite enough, but her eyes were cold and she spoke about her son as though he wasn't even in the same room, let alone sitting next to her and able to hear every word.

Castiel hadn't even done anything about it, just kept on placidly eating his dinner, though the food didn't seem to be to his liking. He ate in tiny bites and had left most of his meal on his plate.

Dean had gone for a walk in the gardens after dinner to try and clear his head, but it had been useless. Every step brought with it more questions, thoughts chasing each other in circles around his head until he was ten times more frustrated than he had been before entering the gardens.

Ultimately, everything came down to one question.

What was the prince's true nature? What had been an act and what had been real?

Dean had to know. The sooner, the better, and the only way to do that was to go directly to the source.

It was late by the time he'd finally worked up the courage to face Castiel, but nobody challenged him as he walked towards the guest wing of the castle. He felt almost like someone  _ should _ , that this was a stupid idea and he'd only end up disappointed and hurt, but better now than after the wedding.

He knew which of the royal visitors were staying in which room and he walked straight to the prince's door and knocked. Then he waited, anxiously shifting his weight from one side to the other until he heard footsteps through the door.

He straightened up just in time for a dark-haired omega woman to poke her head out around the door. Her eyes widened and she dipped into a hurried curtsey.

"Good evening, your highness," she said, holding position. Her voice had only the faintest tremble. "How may I serve you?"

"I would like to speak to my betrothed," Dean said. The maidservant seemed startled, jerking back slightly and going still. She didn't look up, as though afraid to meet his gaze. Dean scoffed, folding his arms across his chest and waiting.

"Your Highness," she said, voice carefully polite and deferential. She hesitated, clearly scrambling for words. "This is most irreg- that is, in Elysium, it's... frowned upon, for the alpha-"

"Are you telling me 'no'?" Dean asked, tone neutral. Despite himself and the circumstances, he was actually a little impressed. An omega maid standing before the Crown Prince in his own castle, refusing him entrance to her master's chamber. He'd heard of omegas in Elysium being flogged for far less.

Dean wondered briefly what Emm- what  _ Castiel _ had done to inspire such loyalty.

"No," she said quickly, her face flushed red. "Not at all, Your Highness, but would... would you not rather wait for the wedding night?"

Her voice went quiet towards the end, weak and uneven. Dean wondered for a moment how much of this resistance was her own and how much of it was formed from any reservations her lord had about the wedding.

"I just want-" Dean started, but was cut off when a voice from deeper in the room spoke.

"Hannah."

The maidservant- Hannah, Dean supposed- turned quickly, looking behind her into the lit chamber. Dean stayed quiet, listening. The achingly familiar voice spoke again.

"It's all right. Let him in."

Hannah hesitated once more. Probably put off by the reluctance in Prince Castiel's voice, Dean supposed bitterly.

Then she nodded and dipped into a curtsey before pulling the door open wide enough to allow Dean entry. He walked in, eyes immediately landing on the prince at the center of the room.

Castiel was kneeling with his back to one of the fine chairs in the room, his eyes downcast. He was dressed in a fine blue silk robe, embroidered all over with silver threads. The garment had been thrown on quickly and hastily buttoned. The sight made Dean's possessive inner alpha growl dangerously as he sniffed the air.

But there were no other alphas in the room. No scent of slick or sex, just the autumn forest he'd come to associate with Emmanuel.

He heard the door close behind him and light footsteps as Hannah followed him into the room. Dean stopped and looked at her.

"I would like to speak with him alone," Dean said. Hannah went still, then looked at Castiel desperately for some direction.

"Hannah," Castiel said, voice soft, his head still bowed. Hannah nodded unhappily and, without a word, went back to the door on reluctant feet. She hesitated at the doorway. Dean cleared his throat and, finally, she left.

The door shutting behind her sounded loud in the quiet room. Dean turned back to look at Castiel, who had bowed his head even deeper in deference.

"Alpha," he said. It didn't sound at all like the times Emmanuel had called him that; Castiel wasn't teasing or baiting him, wasn't calling him 'alpha' like it was some kind of private joke between the two of them. Castiel said 'alpha' the same way others might say 'the Crown Prince'; a title to be feared, belonging to a man far above them in status.

Dean's stomach twisted and he looked away.

He couldn't look at Castiel, not with his perfect courtly manners and his bowed head. It felt wrong and deeply disturbing, like finding a pigeon swimming deep underwater.

"So," Dean said, hating the weakness in his voice and hoping Castiel couldn't hear it. "'Emmanuel'."

The omega bowed his head even lower, and if Dean had had any doubts about whether or not this was the same person, they would've vanished in an instant. His heart wrenched and he blinked, eyes stinging.

"Fake name, fake history... was anything about you real?" Dean asked, not particularly caring if he was being unfair. Emmanuel hadn't offered up any information on himself, but then again neither had Dean and Dean hadn't pressed for details. He'd thought he knew enough.

He'd never been more wrong.

Had any of it been real?

"My apologies, alpha," Castiel said, voice so soft it was barely above a whisper.

Dean wanted to be sick. So it  _ had _ all been a lie; nothing about Emmanuel had been real at all, Castiel had as good as admitted it.

In that moment, Dean would've given anything to be marrying someone else the next day. Someone, anyone, just so long as he didn't have to marry this manipulative, two-faced sonofabitch.

"Joke's on you, I guess," Dean said, letting the venom seep into his tone. "After tomorrow you'll be stuck with me."

A small, petty part of him wanted to get a reaction out of Castiel. He needed to see that there was some emotion beneath the calm exterior, something willing to give as good as it got. At least if he could provoke Castiel's anger, he'd know there was a person buried beneath all the 'yes, alpha's and 'no, alpha's. There was something reachable beneath all the lies and masks and playacting.

Castiel didn't respond, which only inflamed Dean's anger further. He started pacing so he wouldn't have to look at the omega.

"You pull that trick a lot?" he asked, partially because crudeness was the best way he knew to get a rise out of someone and partially because he had to know how Castiel had played the part so well. He'd had Dean eating out of the palm of his hand and none the wiser; until he'd seen Castiel getting out of that carriage, he hadn't doubted Emmanuel at all. He'd actually been worried about him, and Castiel had just left him behind as easy as breathing. "Run away, find some alpha to bed you, trick him with the whole-" Dean gestured jerkily to Castiel's whole body, unable to describe the role Castiel had played; he certainly wasn't about to call it 'blushing virgin'. "-then just leave once you've had your fun?"

That would be just Dean's luck. One of the few times he'd actually slept with someone he was falling for and it didn't mean anything to the other person.

"Never, alpha," Castiel said, and though the words didn't sound like a lie, Dean couldn't believe him. He refused to, not now that he knew how easily the prince switched faces.

He ached. Carving out his heart with a dull, rusty sword wouldn't hurt as much, he thought, caught between fury and a heartbreak so powerful it threatened to bring him to his knees.

"I'm sorry that I won't be pure for you on our wedding night," Castiel said, and Dean saw red.

"You think  _ that's _ what I'm pissed about?!" he snarled, stepping closer to Castiel. The prince bowed low, practically scraping his forehead on the rug, and held himself there, curled up over his stomach.

The minute tremors running through the omega's body were like a bucket of icy water. Dean stopped dead.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said. His voice was choked with bile as it climbed up his throat. Castiel didn't move.

Just what kind of fucked up things did they  _ do _ to omegas in Elysium?

"Just... stand up," Dean said. He couldn't do this. He couldn't yell at a cowering omega, couldn't hold onto his anger in the face of all that fear, couldn't bear seeing his lover so terrified of him. "Stand up and look at me, damnit."

Castiel hesitated. Then, slowly, he rose to his feet, but kept his eyes downcast and his shoulders hunched, arms folded low over his chest.

"Look at me," Dean said, voice thick. His eyes were burning, vision blurring, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

What did it matter that he wasn't being the alpha his father wanted him to be? Why should he care about showing so much raw emotion in front of someone who had none?

Castiel lifted his gaze from the floor slowly, like he was waiting for Dean to rescind permission or expected some kind of trap. When his eyes finally met Dean's, they went wide, shocked at the tears Dean could feel rolling down his cheeks.

Dean smiled wryly. He'd finally gotten a reaction out of the prince.

"Dean..." Castiel said. Dean chuckled, but the sound was without any humor whatsoever. He wiped at his eyes, mostly to have an excuse not to look at Castiel.

"You know what?" he said, so exhausted from the sudden surge of emotion he was borderline hysterical. Everything seemed suddenly hilarious, though not in a 'funny ha-ha' sense, more of a 'the gods hate me and I know it' sort of way. "It doesn't matter. It doesn't  _ fucking _ matter that none of it meant anything to you, or that you left, because you're still stuck with me anyway."

It would be infinitely more painful for Dean than for Castiel, but that didn't matter either.

"I was going to ask you to come with me, you know?" Dean said, laughing at his own stupidity and shaking his head. "Joke's on me, I guess. All I had to do was come back home and I get to  _ marry _ you. Not my consort, my  _ husband _ . Isn't that hilarious?"

Let Castiel think he was crazy. It didn't matter anymore, and there was a vicious, vindictive part of Dean that  _ wanted _ the prince to see what his little game had done to Dean. If he had a shred of conscience, maybe it would hurt.

Dean wanted it to hurt.

Castiel looked as though he'd been thunderstruck. Dean turned away.

"See you at the altar," he said. He began heading for the door, intending to find Benny and get spectacularly drunk and possibly stay that way until his poisoned liver sent him to an early grave, but a voice interrupted.

"Dean."

Dean stopped. Gone were the notes of deference, the softness, the coolness. The voice saying his name was deep and powerful, emotional, and Dean knew it intimately.

But he couldn't bring himself to turn. He didn't want to face Emmanuel and have Castiel stare back at him.

"What," he said flatly.

"It mattered," Castiel said, his voice choked, on the verge of breaking. "It meant everything to me. You meant everything to me. I never would have left you willingly, and if you had asked, I would have followed you anywhere."

Dean wanted to believe him. He wanted it more than anything, but he couldn't afford to. Not again.

He turned back to Cas and regarded him coldly, viciously stamping on his own heart.

"The tears are a nice touch," he said. It tore at him to be so callous, especially to someone he'd thought himself in love with. "I almost believed you."

"It's the truth," Cas said, taking a step forward. Dean recoiled, keeping the distance between them. Castiel swallowed.

Dean had never seen the prince look so human as in that moment. He felt doubt chip away at his heart, creeping in like a small but stubborn weed.

"Ok," Dean said. He made a wide gesture with his arms as if to say 'enlighten me'. "Say I believe you. Why did you leave?"

Castiel looked pained and for a moment, Dean was certain this was where it would all fall apart. The prince wouldn't have a good answer, one that could bridge the chasm between the man Dean had loved and the cold chameleon standing in front of him.

"My mother's knights found me," Castiel said, choking out the words as though it was difficult to talk about. "On my way back with breakfast. They ambushed me, and if they had found you... they would have killed you. Just to teach me a lesson. I couldn't-" 

Castiel's voice broke and Dean's resistance shattered.

He stepped forward, hope pounding at his heart. Castiel looked at him, eyes red-rimmed and watery, staring at Dean as though he were the single being in all of existence capable of forgiving him or damning him.

Dean had seen all sorts of players as a prince. He'd seen players and minstrels and all sorts of folks whose job was to entertain. Only the best of the best came to the palace to put on a show for the king.

And none of them could have acted  _ this _ .

Dean teetered on the precipice, torn between wanting to believe and needing to protect himself.

"Then why didn't you say anything?" Dean asked, almost dreading the answer. "When you arrived, or at dinner. Just... something."

Castiel closed his eyes as though in great pain.

"My mother," he said softly. "She has particular ideas about omega behavior, and if you weren't the kind of alpha I thought you were... if you were the kind to have an omega flogged for backtalking, or for making eye contact. I couldn't take that risk, not now."

His hand smoothed over his robe, right over his belly, seemingly reassuring himself.

"Why not?" Dean asked, voice barely above a whisper. Cas gave him a watery smile and extended his hand, beckoning.

"Come here, alpha," he said, in the same voice Emmanuel had used that night in the inn. It was possessive and warm, a term of endearment rather than a title.

Dean couldn't find it in himself to be wary anymore. Not with happiness literally calling him closer.

Dean stepped forward and took Castiel's hand, letting himself be led. Cas pulled him up close, still smiling through tears, and tilted his head to expose his neck. Dean leaned in, taking him up on the silent invitation to scent him, relaxing at such a show of trust.

For a moment, he just enjoyed the rich, welcome scent of the forest flooding his senses. 

He drew in a deep lungful of the smell, something in him crying out even as it settled into place. He clutched at Cas, pulling him closer, closer.

Castiel just smiled and ran his hand over the back of Dean's head, scratching his nails at the short hair on the nape of Dean's neck.

"Can you smell it, alpha?" Cas said, voice a low rumble in Dean's ear. Dean wasn't sure what he meant, but asking would require moving, and he wasn't ready to do that just yet.

There was a sweeter note to Castiel's scent than Dean remembered, not cloying but deep and rich, a scent that hit every possessive pleasure center in Dean's brain.

His eyes flew open as he connected the dots, drawing back just enough to look at Castiel in shock. Cas gave him a proud smile, confirming what Dean's nose was telling him.

"You're..." Dean said. Castiel nodded.

"Yes," he said. He grabbed Dean's hand and placed it low on his belly. "I had to be careful so my mother wouldn't find out. She never would have let me keep it."

Dean just stared at his hand on Cas's stomach in shock and more than a little awe. It was more than he dared hope for. His world felt spun on its axis for the second time that day, swinging him from despair into joy so powerful he almost couldn't believe it.

Cas chuckled dryly. Dean knew that chuckle, that wry smile, that fiery spark in those bottomless blue eyes.

"And I have to admit, I did enjoy the idea of my lover's child becoming my husband's heir," Castiel said. Dean laughed, unable to help himself. Giddiness was bubbling up inside him, too warm and rich to contain.

"Cas, you really are something else," he said fondly. Castiel smiled and Dean wanted so badly to kiss that smile...

So he did.

He leaned in and kissed Cas gently, smiling too hard to deepen it. Cas kissed him back, making a little, sighing noise of contentment as he did.

At long last, Dean broke away. He rested his forehead against Castiel's, loathe to move any further away.

"I can't believe it's you," he said. Cas kissed him again, light and sweet.

"And I'm so glad it's you," he said. Dean chuckled again and pulled back to look into Cas's eyes and the overwhelming warmth he found there.

He'd never dreamed of a love match for himself, but the tenderness in his heart and the answering affection in Cas's eyes made him believe that he may have just lucked out.

"Well, I know this is kind of sudden, but," Dean said, humor in his voice. "Will you marry me?"

Dean hadn't been consulted on the marriage and he was absolutely certain nobody had asked Castiel about it either, but asking Cas for his hand felt a bit like reclaiming it for their own. It was still the wedding arranged for them by their families, but now it was, in some small way, theirs as well.

It felt a little more like their choice, not something that had been decided for them.

Castiel smiled and Dean felt his heart melt.

"Yes, I will," Cas said, and pulled Dean into another kiss.


	11. Epilogue

Castiel studied himself in the mirror as Hannah tugged this way and that on the outer robe of his wedding outfit. The whole ensemble was pure white and heavily embroidered, from the tailored pants to the low neckline and the long, sweeping robe with its draping sleeves. It was definitely not the kind of thing Castiel would have ever chosen to wear, but he supposed this was Naomi's revenge for him having been gone for the first month of planning.

Hannah set a fine lace veil on Castiel's head and a silver circlet on top to hold it in place. Then she stepped back, wringing her hands nervously as Castiel stared at the omega groom in the mirror.

He hardly looked a thing like himself. His hair had been tamed with fine amounts of candle wax. The circlet, while not new, had been polished until it shone, the silver so bright it looked almost white. His veil was fine lace and delicate beadwork, covering his face down to his freshly shaven chin and trailing down his back almost to his knees. It was almost as long as the robe he wore; a painfully crisp white affair that fell to his calves, heavily embroidered with silver threads and the tiniest glass beads Castiel had ever seen. Unlike his court clothes, this robe was designed to hang open, revealing the outfit beneath.

Said garments were less grand, though still fit for a royal wedding. Blindingly white pants that flowed delicately around his legs as he walked, tailored to be flattering but not too revealing of the body beneath. The shirt was loose too, and embroidered along the low neckline with the same motifs and flourishes as the robe.

He looked every inch the traditional omega, save for one thing still missing.

The door to the dressing room opened. Hannah and Cas both looked up to see Naomi walk in, a fine wooden box in hand. She was dressed in a deep purple gown, embroidered with gold and gems, ostentatious enough to show her wealth without being gaudy. Her crown was just as magnificent.

Ion and Uriel were a half step behind the Queen, dressed in their best ceremonial clothing.

Castiel inclined his head politely as Hannah dropped into a deep curtsey.

"Mother," Castiel said. Naomi looked him over briefly and then nodded, satisfied.

"Good. You're ready," she said. She turned and set the box on a handy table, then threw open the lid.

From his vantage point, Castiel couldn't see what was in the box, but he had a guess. He was proven correct when Naomi turned back to him and approached with a choker necklace made of the same silver as his crown and tastefully accented with diamonds. The choker looked delicate enough. A cascade of silver chains fell in gentle curves designed to cover from his Adam's apple to his collarbone, a tiny diamond sparkling wherever the chain met the main body of the necklace.

Castiel knew it for what it was.

A collar.

Cas bitterly supposed that at least Naomi hadn't insisted on leading him to the ceremony by a thin golden chain attached to the necklace. Leashes had fallen out of fashion with all but the most traditionalist families, though beautifully designed collars were still considered a fundamental accessory for any omega getting married.

After all, the ceremony had changed very little from when omegas were treated more like particularly valuable cattle and an omega 'marriage' was a sale of contract.

Cas bit his tongue and bowed his head, letting Naomi fasten the collar around his neck. If all went well, if Dean had been sincere in his promises the night before, this would hopefully be the last time Castiel had to submit to tradition.

He just had to get through the wedding first.

"I heard that your alpha visited you late in the night," Naomi said, adjusting each loop of silver so it lay attractively on Castiel's neck.

There was little use lying.

"Yes, Mother," Castiel said. Naomi's lips pursed, probably displeased with the breach of decorum, but then visibly decided to let it go. Dean was going to be marrying Castiel in a few moments; what did it matter if he'd paid a late night visit to Castiel's bedchamber? An early sampling didn't spoil the goods.

"I trust that you showed him proper respect?" Naomi asked, straightening up and levelling Cas with a severe stare. Cas kept his eyes down, holding onto his temper.

A little longer and this would all be over. No more keeping his head down, no more silence.

"Yes, Mother," Cas said again. Naomi stared at him a moment more, then sighed.

She tugged at the collar of his robe, smoothing out an imaginary wrinkle. Castiel held still and let her do as she pleased, waiting warily for whatever words Naomi held waiting on her tongue.

"Good," she said at last, fussing with his veil until it lay just so. "You may hate me for it, Castiel, but I  _ am _ doing what is best for you. Just remember, not all alphas will be as kind to you as I have."

Castiel knew.

He knew that there were alphas out there who beat their omega sons and daughters senseless at the first hint of any spine. There were families who whored out their own blood for the money they could make. There were families who turned an omega child out of doors as soon as they presented.

Yes, Naomi could have been a lot worse, but that didn't mean she couldn't have been  _ better _ .

Castiel didn't need any 'kindness' that still fell short of seeing him as a person.

"I will, Mother," he said.

Naomi let out a short huff of air and turned away, shaking her head.

"Come now, they'll be ready for us soon."

* * *

Dean shifted his weight from one foot to the other, trying not to appear half as nervous as he was.

It wasn't the location, or at least, not entirely. Winchester Abbey was the grandest church in Lawrens and was rarely open to anyone not of the clergy; only special occasions, like a coronation or royal christening, warranted the use of the great hall.

Or, naturally, a royal wedding.

There was an almost physical weight to the air, like the ghosts of hundreds of Dean's ancestors still walked the cold stone halls and were all staring at him in silent judgement. Not to mention the thousands of eyes of the living spectators, all eager to catch a glimpse of such a rare event.

Winchester Abbey was a place that screamed tradition, that demanded deference. It was no place for tomfoolery.

So, naturally, Dean was planning something quite foolish.

Perhaps his wedding wasn't the best place for it, but at least he knew people would be watching. People would talk.

Cas deserved at least that much.

A hush fell over the crowd and then Dean heard the reason. The band had struck up the wedding march.

He looked towards the doors at the other end of the aisle in time to see them slowly swing open. The first people to walk in were two knights, people Dean vaguely recognized as the Queen's Captain of the Guard and his second-in-command. Following right behind them was the Queen, and on her arm was Castiel.

He looked magnificent.

Even the traditionally shapeless outer robe couldn't disguise the body that Dean knew was hidden beneath. He looked like some heavenly being dressed all in white, the light catching on the silver threads and every tiny bead and making him almost glow.

Yeah, Dean had definitely lucked the fuck out. He looked rather plain in comparison in his military dress uniform, even with all the medals pinned to his chest.

The Queen and Castiel approached Dean where he stood with the bishop, and when they had finally reached the altar, the Queen turned to face Cas. She offered him her hands to kiss, a symbolic thanks for all the support she had provided him since his birth.

Dean had to bite back a grin when he noticed Cas deliberately kiss the air over her hands instead, a slight so subtle he doubted any but the three of them had noticed. The Queen's expression flickered but went back to regal neutrality in seconds.

She took her son's hand and escorted him the last few feet to the altar. To Dean.

Dean reached for them and the Queen took his hand before joining it with Castiel's, letting Dean pull him away from her. With the transfer complete, the Queen bowed her head respectfully. Dean returned the gesture, his heart picking up speed as she turned and walked away. She went to her seat in the first row to watch the rest of the ceremony.

Now it was just Dean, Castiel, and the bishop.

Dean looked at Cas, trying not to let his nerves get the better of him. This was the part of the ceremony where he'd guide his groom to kneel before him on the flat cushion provided for the purpose, while he himself stood tall above him, as any alpha should be superior to their omega.

Dean had always been a big believer in starting things as you meant to finish them. His marriage to Cas might not be the start of his reign as king, but it was the start of  _ something _ .

And Castiel was no less than he was.

He could hear distant murmurs breaking out in the crowd, wondering what the holdup was. There was a tension to Cas's body too, as if he wasn't sure why Dean wasn't continuing with the ceremony. As if Dean might have changed his mind and would call the whole thing off, then and there.

Dean reached out and gently tapped under Castiel's chin, asking him to look up.

Slowly, Castiel did.

The murmurs broke out into full-blown whispers, the confusion and shock of the crowd almost palpable. Dean didn't care. He smiled as he stared into those beloved blue eyes behind the veil of lace, trying to reassure Cas without words.

It worked. Castiel stood up straighter and relaxed, smiling back at Dean.

The watching crowd was definitely agitated now, but Dean ignored them. He looked towards the bishop, who smiled serenely back, and began the reading of the vows. The people quieted down to listen, nobody willing to truly disrupt the ceremony.

"Beloved people of Kanaan," the bishop said. "We are gathered here today to witness the joining of our Crown Prince and his chosen mate, Prince Castiel of Elysium. Through their union, may the friendship between our two countries flourish in peace and prosperity."

The bishop's voice carried easily through the cavernous hall, the acoustics designed just so. Nobody could miss a word the bishop said... or failed to say.

"Prince Castiel," the bishop said, looking directly at him. "Do you vow to honor and cherish the Crown Prince as your mate and husband? Do you vow to care for him in sickness or in health, through times of scarcity and times of plenty, through whatever whims of fortune befall you?"

"I do," Castiel said. The bishop nodded.

"And do you hold this as a lifelong vow, never to be broken until death do you part?"

"... I do," Castiel said slowly. He looked a little confused at the missing portions of the traditional vow. Dean gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.

If not being forced to swear to bear Dean as many children as he desired or to obey Dean in all things was enough to confuse him, Dean wondered gleefully how he'd react to the next change in the ceremony Dean had discussed with the bishop early that morning.

He may have shortened the omega portion of the vows, but he'd doubled the length of those promised by the alpha.

"And do you, Prince Dean," the bishop said, turning then to Dean. "Vow to honor and cherish the Prince as your mate and husband? Do you-"

The murmuring from the crowd picked up again.

"-vow to care for him in sickness or in health-"

The noise behind rose to a dull roar as those watching caught on, shock and excitement and dismay running through the watchers in almost equal measures.

"-through times of scarcity and times of plenty, through whatever whims of fortune befall you?"

"I do," Dean said, projecting his voice a little more to be heard over the noise. He looked back at Cas for the next part, a little pleased with himself for the absolutely stunned look on the omega's face.

"And do you hold this as a lifelong vow, never to be broken until death do you part?"

Dean grinned.

"I do," he said.

"Then, by the powers vested in me, I pronounce you mated in the eyes of the Lords. Go forth in happiness and plenty."

Kissing wasn't a traditional part of the ceremony, but Dean would be damned if he spent one more minute without his mate's lips on his. He pulled Cas close and lifted his veil before capturing Cas's mouth with his own.

The room exploded into noise, but Dean didn't hear any of it. He was too busy kissing and being kissed to worry about the consequences.

Dean and Cas pulled apart and turned as one to walk back down the aisle and out the doors to the waiting carriage. Dean was sure he'd catch hell for this later, but it was hard to care about that with Castiel's hand warm in his and that beatific smile on Cas's face.

As they walked together down the aisle, Castiel paused for a moment at the end of the first row. Dean stopped with him, releasing his hand when Cas tugged, and watched as 

Cas raised his hands to the necklace he was wearing. He unfastened it and looked at his mother, a sharp-edged smile on his face.

"I believe this is yours," he said as he handed it over. The Queen took it, looking stunned, and opened her mouth to speak, but Cas was already turning away from her and back to Dean.

Dean gave her a jaunty little wave and they continued down the aisle, hand in hand.


End file.
